


marry me a little

by celaenos



Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Marriage of Convenience, Motherhood, Pining, Sharing a Bed, and a family, and jane is sunshine, petra deserves happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-05-23 10:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 109,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6114331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celaenos/pseuds/celaenos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petra swallows, remembering the night in the stairwell. Thinking about how it was the first time Jane had felt real to her since the day they met, and how she didn’t want it to end, and how that was so, so dangerous. To <i>want</i> like that.</p><p>(Or, Jane marries Petra to save her from Milos. And things start to get real complicated after that.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. there won’t be trumpets

**Author's Note:**

> starts going au during 2x05, but canon stuff will pop up here and there.
> 
> ETA: forgot to mention, all of Alba's lines, and any Spanish included is translated with Google's translater. I only know a tiny handle full of phrases and words. I am not at all fluent. If there are any Spanish speakers who notice something glaringly wrong (because Google's good, but not perfect) please let me know and I'll fix it when I get the chance. This goes for the whole fic. With Czech too.

Petra clenches her teeth tightly around the blue lollipop. Frustration pulsing deeply at each word coming from Milos' mouth. Her throat hurts from not crying. She hangs up the phone and tries to breath through the nausea. But of course, she can't have a single minute to get herself together—Jane steps into her office.

“Did you ever get sick?” Petra asks. She might as well instigate the conversation. Jane is going to whether Petra wants her to or not.

And _of course_ Jane never got sick. The world seems to be shaped just so to be cruel to Petra alone.

Jane reminds Petra of the day in the stairwell, and Petra somehow manages to hold her face together. The two of them had come to an unspoken agreement afterwords never to mention that night again. But Jane presses on. Asking if Petra is in danger and it's just... so like Jane. To persist. To cut right to the truth of it all.

Petra swallows, remembering the night in the stairwell. Thinking about how it was the first time Jane had felt real to her since the day they met, and how she didn’t want it to end, and how that was so, so dangerous. To _want_ like that. To be vulnerable, laying all her cards out on the table. She’s thinking about how Jane is one of the few people who has ever listened to her, and who didn’t run away when she started talking about the parts of herself that aren’t pretty, and how, in another life, it could be like this, sharing their secrets and their dreams like it means something. Like there was actual friendship involved, instead of fight after fight.

On instinct, Petra defends herself to Jane. Tells her about Milos giving her the violin. Feeling happy and _wanted_ by someone for the first time in her life. But then, she falters. The gravity of her situation sets in. She was a child in nearly every respect when she dated Milos. Twenty-four or not, she had been sheltered and naive. Natalia had thought she was in love. That her happily ever after had come. If that girl could see her now... frightened by the man she thought she loved. Divorced. Four failed relationships later. Pregnant and alone. Natalia wouldn't recognize her at all.

She doesn't even play the violin anymore.

The world twists adults into shapes they never thought that they’d be. Petra sucks on the lollipop again. It's probably turning her lips blue. She must look ridiculous. Jane nods, but Petra can tell that she doesn't fully buy her story. It doesn't matter. Petra's said enough to get Jane to leave.

She bites into the lollipop—too hard—and cuts the inside of her cheek. Her throat burns, but she still doesn't allow herself to cry.

…

…

Milos gives her a violin. Not a knock off this time, and she _knows_ instantly. He's listening in on her somehow. Bugging her. Her phone, her room, her office—she has no idea. But Milos is somehow listening in on everything that she says. So, when Jane invites herself into Petra's room the next morning—her wedding day—Petra clams up. Goes icy on survival instinct.

Until Jane tells Petra that she has gone and visited her mother. Petra snaps right to attention at _that._

Jane (and Rafael) have concocted some sort of plan with a flash drive. It sounds simple enough in theory, but Petra has learned not to underestimate Milos. And if he's listening in somehow... it's doomed to fail. Jane just sounds so sure of herself. She smiles at Petra, and fixes Mateo's blanket, and Petra just...

“Why are you doing this?” she asks. “You don't... I'll keep him away from Mateo.” She can't help but glance down at the sleeping baby in question. She's only gotten a few good looks at him. But... he's beautiful. Her hand goes to her stomach out of its own accord.

“Ninety-eight percent of it is because of Mateo,” Jane admits. Her voice drops, softens. “But... two percent is because... I kind of care about you Petra.” Petra can't help the shock that slips onto her face. She feels nearly bowled over by it. It's surprising that her knees haven't buckled. Jane shrugs, holding the flash drive out, her words coming out in a mumble. “In that, I don't want you to marry a psycho kind of way.”

Petra feels frozen. She means to uncross her arms and take the flash drive. To nod and promise Jane that she will try, and then just get on with marrying Milos once she leaves. It's only a year of her life. She's going to start getting fat and undesirable soon enough, he won't want to try anything with her.

“I...” Petra swallows and reaches for the flash drive with shaky hands. Jane frowns. For a moment, Petra thinks Jane will just leave it. Walk out of the room with Mateo andPetra's fate will be sealed. Jane nearly turns to leave, but she shakes her head and turns back around.

“No, you know what? I'm sorry, I know in many ways this is none of my business, but Mateo's asleep and I don't have to be anywhere right now. Where's his computer? Let me... I can help.”

Petra meets Jane's eyes then, because, _Jane_ of all people is under no obligation to help her with anything. She has already gone above and beyond what any decent person would do. Visiting Magda cannot have been easy for her. But, Petra can't find an ounce of insincerity in her face. Petralowers down into her seat, motioning for Jane to do the same. Then she makes a noise that might have been a laugh, but it’s too raw in all the wrong places. Jane's hand reaches out across the table and winds into her own. Petra stares at it silently for a moment, then reaches over and grabs for Jane's phone. Jane looks utterly confused, and momentarily angry, but Petra ignores her and quickly types out a note.

_Milos is bugging me somehow. He can hear all of this._

Jane's eyes go hilariously wide and she gasps, scrambling for her phone and typing furiously.

_WHAT? For real?_

Petra only nods. Jane's eyes scan the room, like she can see whatever Milos is using to listen in on them. Then she just leaps out of her chair, one hand on Mateo's stroller, the other clutching Petra's in a death grip. She yanks the three of them out of the room, Petra's hair still in curlers.

Jane freezes in the hallway, then quickly types again on her phone, holding it up in Petra's face.

_Do you have your phone on you right now?_

Petra shakes her head. Jane nods, bends down, types again and passes the phone to Petra. Before she can even start to read the message, she feels Jane's hands patting down her stomach. Petra yelps. Jane glares and points to her phone, resuming her search.

_There might be a bug on your body!!!_

Petra huffs as Jane searches every inch of Petra's dress. She swats Jane's hands away when she considers checking inside her bra.

“Right, that'd probably be insane,” Jane agrees, her voice a whisper. “Though... he _is_ insane...” Before she can even rationalize what she is doing, Petra simply unclips her bra, pulls it off and hangs it on the doorknob. Jane nods once in satisfaction, then grabs Petra's hand again, pulling her into the stairwell. “Do you think... should we still type?” Jane whispers.

Petra sighs and drops down onto the stairs. Jane is beside her immediately, hand clasped in her own. “I'm sorry,” Petra says, as she feels her eyes begin to well up.

“It's okay,” Jane insists, hurriedly typing on her phone. “I just texted Michael.”

“Michael?”

“Yes. Michael. A cop.”

“I... you don't even know what I've... you know what. It'll be fine Jane. It's only a year of my life.”

“ _What?”_ Jane hisses. “Petra what does he have over you that you feel like you can't trust anyone?”

Petra clenches her teeth and presses her palms together as tight as she can. Jane is just _waiting,_ there's no pressure or judgement on her face. Petra knows that it's coming though, if she really explains it all. But, she's so _tired._ She's never felt this tired in her life. Trauma shared is trauma halved. Maybe.

Petra tells Jane everything. The faked medical papers for her mother's wheelchair. Covering for her mother pushing Alba Villanueva down the stairs. (The look on Jane's face at that one, even though it's not news to her, almost causes Petra to end her confession right there.) Petra doesn't look at Jane as she tells her about holding Ivan hostage. Jane's sharp intake of breath is enough.

“So you see... you can't... Michael can't...”

Jane's hand slips back into her own. “We'll figure it out,” she promises. Her phone rings and Jane jumps to answer it. “Michael!” she says, almost manically. “Did you get my texts?” Mateo starts to fuss and Jane's voice drops to a whisper as she digs a bottle out of her bag. It's pressed into Petra's hands and she nearly drops it in shock. “See if you can get him to sleep,” Jane whispers. “I'll be right out in the hall. He'll be a nightmare later if he doesn't sleep for at least another half hour.”

“What?” Petra asks in horror, but Jane is already out of the stairwell. Petra glances back down at the baby. His eyes are still closed, but his mouth is gearing up for a wail. Petra shoves the bottle in it before he can cry. Awkwardly, she makes shushing noises and rocks the stroller a little. It seems to be working, no matter how out of place Petra feels doing it. She can't remember ever being alone with a baby before this moment. And suddenly she feels so unprepared for motherhood she wants to scream. Petra clamps her mouth shut and watches Mateo instead. He's settling back down. The red in his face returning to its natural color as he relaxes. Petra chances brushing a single finger down his cheek. As light as she can manage. She's never felt anything so soft and fragile in all her life. Mateo leans into her touch, and Petra has to choke down a sob. Apparently, pregnancy hormones kick right in.

Jane slips back into the stairwell a moment later, her face as serious as Petra has ever seen it. “Is he going to arrest me?” Petra asks in a panic.

“No,” Jane assures her quickly. “No I didn't even tell him about Ivan.”

Petra's shocked. “Really?” Jane shakes her head, her fingers curling onto Mateo's stroller. Petra watches her swallow and try to prepare herself for whatever it is that she's going to say. “It's alright,” Petra tells her. “He can't help,” she assumes with a shrug, the answer clear on Jane's face.

“It's... he needs evidence. Time. He needs time to get evidence. Then he _can_ help.”

“I don't have time,” Petra says. “The wedding is in six hours.” Jane's entire body deflates. Petra forgets sometimes, that Jane is nearly seven years younger than her. That she is a romantic. In her eyes, this is the part where they come up with a plan to save the day and everything works out. Petra stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago. She stands up, rolling the empty bottle in between her hands. “I told you, it's only a year. I'll be fine Jane. But...” she looks down at Mateo, unable to look Jane in the eye as she says this. “The fact that you care that two percent... it's more than I deserve. Thank you for trying.”

“Marry me,” Jane says firmly.

Petra snaps her head up in shock. “What?”

Jane is deadly serious. “Michael said... well he was _joking_ but, he said if you married someone else before Milos found out. Well, then, you'd get rights. Protection. Marital, I don't know. And he'd have time to get evidence on Milos. If you're already married to someone else, Milos can't force you to marry him. And he won't be able to stay in the country much longer if he's not married to you. And since Michael knows, he can help keep the stuff Milos has over you quiet. Not like, him _breaking the law_ ,” she says seriously. “Just like, Milos is a psycho criminal, and you were someone put in a really bad situation and... reacted to it. He'd have time to help.”

“Jane...” Petra can't comprehend what is happening right now.

“I'm serious Petra,” Jane insists. “Marry me. We can go to City Hall right now. Then he can't hurt you.”

“That's... this is _insane,_ ” Petra whispers.

“A little bit, maybe,” Jane agrees. “But it's our best plan.”

“Jane...”

“You don't deserve this Petra,” Jane insists, her voice fierce. Petra stares down at her, mouth agape. Jane is... well she's tiny, but she's not _small_. Her face is so full of determination and her body is practically thrumming, unable to contain the ferocity inside of her. Petra looks at her, and hears the words coming out of her mouth and feels... protected almost. Like somehow, this tiny ferocious woman could actually hold back Milos through sheer force of will. “He doesn't get to do this to you. This isn't... penance, or retribution. You do _not_ deserve to be forcibly married to a man you're afraid of. You're...” Jane's eyes flicker down to Petra's stomach. “You're going to have a baby Petra,” she says, with awe in her voice. “You're going to be someone's mom. Mateo's sibling's mom. Your child doesn't deserve this, and neither do you. I can help. Please don't marry him,” she pleads. “It may be a little crazy, but it can work. We can make it work. Please don't give up Petra,” Jane's voice cracks just slightly at that. She swallows and recovers, locking eyes with Petra. “You can marry me instead.”

It's the fourth time Petra has been proposed to in her thirty-one years. Lachlan's proposal, looking back on it, wasn't as romantic as she used to remember. It had _felt_ romantic at the time. The fact that someone wanted her enough to be with her forever. But... she had never felt the same way. She'd known it even then, with him standing across from her, holding out a ring. (He'd never embarrass himself enough to get down on one knee.) But, it had felt _good_ being wanted. It had felt like enough. And her mother was insistent, so Petra said yes.

Rafael's proposal was romantic. In a certain way. She had been in love at least. They'd been tangled together in bed, and he pulled a ring out of nowhere, grin on his face and laughter in his eyes. Petra had been shocked. Had actually _squealed_ with happiness. He slipped the ring on her finger and they went right back to making love. Her mother hadn't approved. She wanted Petra to marry Lachlan. Somehow, that made Petra even more sure in her decision. They had been happy, once. But clearly, it hadn't been destined to last.

Milos' proposal was a threat. Through and through. He'd call it a deal, but Petra knows better. Whether she forces him to agree to certain terms or not, it was a threat. Not to be taken lightly, not a hint of romance involved. Marry me or else.

Jane's proposal... is practical. And emotional. And... feels like a way out. Jane is looking at her and promising protection. Friendship. It's crazy, and desperate, and feels like someone's offered her a lifeline. A reprieve.

A silence falls between them and solidifies somewhere around Petra’s diaphragm, then _—_

Jane reaches out and for maybe the fourth time today, slips her hand into Petra's, and squeezes. Their hands fit well together. It's an odd thing to be thinking about right now, but it's what comes into Petra's head. She looks at Jane's face again, thinks about what her life with Milos will be like and feels nauseous. She can't tell if it's because of the baby, or because of Milos, or both. But Jane squeezes her hand again, her thumb rubbing lightly across the back of Petra's hand, and Petra feels her head jerk down, and back up again into a nod. “Okay,” she croaks. “I'll marry you.”

…

…

They go to city hall immediately.

Jane pushes Mateo, half asleep in his stroller as she calls someone named Lina who Petra can vaguely picture if she tries hard enough. Jane doesn't stop talking for a second. Nerves, or awkwardness, Petra doesn't know. She simply nods and hums at what feel like pauses directed towards her and walks beside Jane, unable to really take in anything she is saying. She's yanked her hair out of the curlers, but she still doesn't have a bra on.

Before she really knows what is happening, Petra is standing beside Jane while she fills out the paperwork for their marriage license. Jane harasses an officiant into allowing them to be married right now, instead of waiting twenty-four hours. When Jane is on the verge of screaming at him in frustration, Petra snaps her fingers in his face and levels him with a glare. He shrinks from her with a sigh and passes the rest of the paperwork over.

“That's a useful skill,” Jane says with a smile. Petra shrugs and glances down at the paper she's supposed to sign. Jane's handwriting is neat and artistic. The officiant comes back and hovers, waiting for Petra to sign and pass it back to him. Petra grips the pen tightly as Lina arrives, yelling at Jane about how ridiculous this all is and waking up Mateo. Jane hushes her and rocks him while the officiant waits impatiently. Petra sucks in a breath and scrawls her name beside Jane's, it's unimpressive and messy beside Jane's intricate and practiced signature.

“Are you _seriously_ getting married to _her?”_ Lina asks.

“Lina!” Jane snaps, “are you gonna be my witness or not?”

“Obviously,” Lina rolls her eyes, and struts up to the desk, batting her lashes at the officiant as she scribbles her own name to the paperwork. “It's just my duty as your best friend to tell you when you're being batshit crazy,” she turns around and glances at Petra. “This is definitely at the top of the list of crazy shit you've done.”

“Noted,” Jane says. “Hold Mateo for me.”

The officiant motions for Jane and Petra to stand beside each other. Someone hands them both a tiny bouquet of flowers and Petra stares at hers. Daisies. Jane's are lilacs. Not what Petra would have picked, but she finds herself smiling at them all the same. The officiant reads off whatever formal nonsense is required, and then Jane is nudging Petra with her elbow.

“Sorry,” she says.

The officiant shrugs, and repeats himself. “Do you, Petra Solano, take Jane Gloriana Villanueva as your lawfully wedded wife?”

“Yes,” Petra nods. Her tongue feels too thick for her mouth. “I do.”

“And do you, Jane Gloriana Villanueva, take Petra Solano as your lawfully wedded wife?” the officiant asks Jane.

Petra watches her hesitate. Realization at what they are truly doing settling in. Jane looks over at Lina and Mateo, and fidgets with the lilacs in her hands.

“You don't have to Jane,” Petra whispers. “It's okay. I'll—”

“Yes,” Jane says resolutely, “I do.”

Lina pulls rings out of a plastic shopping bag and yanks the tags off them. “Here.”

“These are mood rings,” Jane says as she takes the band offered to her.

“You just said get matching rings quick and get down here. It's not like they sell wedding bands at CVS.”

Jane rolls her eyes and glares at the band momentarily. “It'll do,” she decides, and gently takes Petra's hand, slipping the ring onto her finger. It turns an orange-yellow color. Petra takes the other ring from Lina and slips it onto Jane's finger. Hers turns a sort of yellow-green. Petra doesn't know what moods they're supposed to represent. She hasn't had a mood ring since she was ten years old. It broke after two days.

“Congratulations,” the officiant says with a bright smile. “By the power invested in me, by the state of Florida, I now pronounce you, Mrs and Mrs Villanueva. You may kiss the bride.”

“Villanueva?” Jane asks, surprised. Petra is as well, she hadn't even paid attention to what she scribbled down.

“Oh, sorry... I didn't...”

“It's fine,” Jane assures her. “I just didn't... we're really married,” she says in shock.

“You've gotta kiss first,” Lina reminds them smugly.

The officiant watches them expectantly and Petra swallows. Turning to face Jane head on, she twists the new ring on her finger. It turns bright orange. Jane's ring mimicking the color on her own finger. Jane gives Petra a shaky smile and a shrug, leaning up on her toes. Petra has takes half a second to acknowledge the motion as adorable, then meets Jane halfway, connecting their lips together. She hears Lina wolf whistle from behind them, causing Jane to smile just a bit into the kiss. It barely lasts seconds before they both pull apart, but Petra's lips come away tingling all the same. The urge to reach up and touch them is overwhelming, but she balls her hands into fits. Jane stares at her for a moment without blinking. The officiant hands Lina the paperwork and walks away, leaving them staring at each other. It's quiet and awkward and Petra doesn't know what to do with her hands. The bouquet of daisies is crushed in her palms.

Lina passes Mateo back to Jane, snapping her back to attention. Lina loops her arm through Jane's free one, and asks if they can go get some food now, because she skipped lunch to come over here, and she's _starving_. Petra follows them out of the courthouse on autopilot.

When they arrive back at the Marbella, Lina heads off immediately in search of food. Petra and Jane head towards her suite to pack her things and hide from Milos; wedding preparations are still going on in the ballroom. Petra sees Rafael walk down the hall and make his way towards Jane with determination. He gives Petra a single, exasperated glance before turning his attention solely on Jane and Mateo. Nothing new there. Petra fights the urge to roll her eyes.

“What's going on?” he asks. “I've been talking to Milos for _hours_. I get a text from you saying, ' _keep him stalled, new plan,_ _different_ _getting married'._ What the hell does that mean?” he snaps at Petra. “What did you do?”

All of Petra's defensive instincts kick in before she can stop herself. “I married Jane instead,” she snaps back. Relishing a little in the wave of shock and hurt that falls over his face. Jane gives her a warning glare and Petra sighs. “It's a long, mostly ridiculous story. Jane very selflessly offered this solution,” she softens her voice. “I'm extremely grateful,” she directs mostly towards Jane. “I'll go pack. Let the two of you talk.”

Jane nods and Petra slips into her suite, hearing Rafael and Jane arguing in hushed voices through the door. She can't help but check to make sure that Milos isn't in the room as she hurriedly shoves her things into her bags. Not bothering to fold anything. It'll all be full of wrinkles. Petra can't bring herself to care. At least she's got a bra on now.

After a few moments, the voices in the hallway rise, and Petra thinks she can pick out Michael's voice among them. She hears Jane chastise the both of them angrily while Mateo begins to cry. Then, the baby screams. A terrible, pained wail that causes her stomach to drop. Petra sprints out of the room, her bags mostly packed. Jane is panicking and holding Mateo, blood welling up on his arm. Michael and Rafael are tangled together in a fight on the floor. Both men jump up at the sight of Mateo, worry and guilt on both their faces. Jane shrinks back from both of them, her panic increasing.

Petra's not sure exactly what happened, but the shards of glass on the floor are explanation enough for the moment. She steps forward and places her hand gently on the small of Jane's back. “Let's get him to a doctor,” she says softly. Jane whimpers in response, nodding and starting down the hall.

Michael and Rafael both start apologizing at once. Mateo's cries become louder, and Jane snaps at them both before walking down the hall, Petra following behind. Her bags hang heavy and awkward in her hands.

…

…

Petra sits in a waiting chair, biting her nails. A habit she hasn't done in years. She snaps at Michael. “You're making me dizzy, _sit down,_ ” she says forcefully.

“Mateo's hurt,” he says, yanking his hands through his hair roughly. “I—”

“You making me want to vomit all over my shoes isn't going to change that.”

Michael freezes and stares down at Petra. “Why are you even here?” he asks, not unkindly.

Petra bristles all the same. It has been a whirlwind of a day to say the least. “I'm Jane's wife,” she snaps. “Mateo's stepmother too I guess.” The shock on Michael's face is nothing compared to Rafael's, and Petra allows herself a moment to feel terrible for him. If things had just worked out as planned, Michael and Jane would be the ones married right now. She would have never even divorced Rafael. She wouldn't have to be here at all. Pregnant and married to a woman she barely likes, let alone knows. Running scared from her past _again._ The hurt on Michael's face only cements the complete absurdity of the entire situation.

“What?” he gasps.

“Apparently, it was your bright idea,” she says with a shrug. “Don't get angry at me for saying yes.”

“ _My_ idea? I said... it was a _joke._ ” He starts pacing again. Petra really might vomit on him if he doesn't stop. “I'm getting fired because of _Rafael_ , and _you_ married Jane,” he mutters. Petra looks up in shock at that. The whole point of this sham of a marriage was to give Michael time to find evidence on Milos. She needs him to be a cop for that.

“You're fired?” she asks.

“About to be,” he answers, sounding more dejected than Petra has ever heard him.

“Perfect,” Petra snaps. Michael looks like he is about to start screaming at her, but Jane and Rafael emerge with Mateo. Both Petra and Michael jump to attention.

“Is he—”

“He's alright,” Jane says, sounding much more like she's trying to convince herself. There's a large bandage on his tiny little arm, and he's sleeping soundly in Jane's arms. “He'll be alright,” Jane corrects herself.

“Jane, if we could please—” Rafael begins, clearly trying to finish whatever they'd been saying in the doctor's office. Jane cuts him off with a single look.

“Jane—” Michael steps forward. Rafael looks like he is about to punch him again. “I am, _so_ sorry.” Michael says sincerely. Rafael scoffs and Jane looks ready to murder the both of them on the spot.

“I can't talk to either of you right now,” she says, leaving no room for argument. She rocks Mateo again and looks up, seemingly noticing Petra for the first time in the last two hours. Her face twists as she remembers: they're married now. Petra swallows thickly, expecting Jane to call it off somehow. Send her back to The Marbella and Milos and leave her to her own devices. She straightens her shoulders, ready for it. “Come on Petra,” she says instead, “let's go home.”

Shock radiates off Petra, Michael and Rafael. Jane ignores all three of them and walks out of the waiting room. Leaving Petra scrambling to gather her bags and chase after her. Michael and Rafael stand beside each other, matching expressions of guilt and anger on their faces as they watch Petra waddle down the hall in her heels.

…

…

Jane is silent on the bus. Petra sits beside her and tries to keep her bags as close to her as possible. Her phone has been blowing up with texts from Milos for the last half an hour. He calls for the sixty-eighth time in a row and Petra ignores it.

“Is that him?” Jane asks hoarsely. Petra nods, chewing at her bottom lip. If she doesn't stop, it's going to start to bleed. “Can he track your phone?”

Petra's eyes widen. She'd forgotten. _Stupidly._ Milos calls again and this time, Petra answers. “Stop calling me Milos,” she says before he can get a word in. “I'm not marrying you. I've married someone else, and I'm not living at The Marbella anymore. You can have your shares back, I don't care what you do. But you must leave me alone.” Petra slams the phone down on the dirty bus floor and cracks her heel into it. The crunch is satisfying, and she grinds it in deeper for effect. Not worrying about the damage to her shoe. A teenage boy across from them watches her in horror. The grip on his own phone tightens.

Jane doesn't say a word for two stops, then, “Michael might get fired,” she admits quietly. “Someone—he thinks Rafael—turned him in about covering for his old partner. Or... I don't know. He might... he might not be able to help us.”

Petra swallows down a wave of nausea. “I know,” she sighs. “We... we can go back and get an annulment. You don't have to do this Jane. I'll figure something out.”

Jane's hand moves into her own, squeezing lightly before twining their fingers together. It might be the most anyone has ever held Petra's hand in a single day. “No,” she insists, “I said that I'd help and I meant it. There are other detectives. He's a _criminal_. If Michael can't...” Jane swallows her tears. “There are other people who can help. We stick with the plan.”

“Okay,” Petra whispers.

The bus stops and Jane yanks Petra upwards. “This is us,” she says, moving to grab one of Petra's bags. Petra scrambles for the rest and kicks the remains of her phone underneath the seat. She'll have to get a new one now. If Milos takes her shares of The Marbella back, she might not even be able to afford one. Or any of her doctor's appointments. Or the actual _baby_ that is currently growing inside of her. Before her panic can truly increase, Jane turns to her and smiles. Too much teeth; more of a wince. “They might... not be so thrilled about the whole, me marrying you thing. So, I'm going to apologize right now. My mother can be incredibly dramatic, and my abuela doesn't always handle surprises well. They... don't have the greatest picture of you.”

Petra scoffs. “Wonderful.”

“I'm sorry,” Jane winces. “Just, please try to be nice.”

“I'm not _nice_ ,” Petra says.

Jane rolls her eyes. “Dig deep.”

Petra waits, her bags heavy and uncomfortable in her arms as Jane opens the front door, successfully juggling Mateo and one of Petra's bags. Her stomach flips nervously. If Jane's family doesn't let her stay... she has no where else to go. She can't go back to The Marbella, not with Milos there. Petra tries to make herself look soft and inviting, she highly doubts that it works.

“Ma! Abuela!” Jane calls out, setting Petra's bag down. “We're home. I've got... some news.”

“Jane, what took you so long?” Xiomara begins as she enters from the kitchen. “I've been calling you—what happened to Mateo?” she asks in alarm. “Why is she here?” she waves at Petra.

“It's... a very long story,” Jane starts, “but Mateo's okay,” she hands the baby to her mother. “Where's Abuela?”

"Estoy aquí," Alba Villanueva walks into the room and gives Petra an agonizing glare."¿Qué está haciendo aquí?" she asks, barely holding in her anger. Petra's Spanish is... a handful of words and phrases at best. She swallows and defers to Jane.

“Ma, Abuela,” Jane begins calmly, “Petra needs to stay here for a little while.”

“What!” Xiomara shouts.

“No, no lo permitiré.”

Jane takes a deep breath. “She has no where else to go. Abuela, it's—”

“Janie, this woman helped her mother after she—”

“I know,” Jane snaps. Petra clenches her fists, fighting her instincts to defend herself. She doesn't look at Alba. “She apologized to me. I'm sure that she will apologize to you both as well,” Jane says, rather pointedly. Petra does _not_ roll her eyes, but instead nods. Thinking of the baby growing in her stomach, and Milos' threats. “She was trying to help her mother. Who, is now in _jail_ for what she did I might add. Paying for her crimes.”

“I am sorry,” Petra says sincerely, facing Alba's glare. She doesn't offer anything in response. Petra doesn't expect her to.

“Jane,” Xiomara whispers, “she's _crazy._ She inseminated herself with Rafael's sperm. She's... this is some ploy to get Rafael back and you're _helping her._ ”

“It's not,” Petra says. “Rafael has made it very clear to me that we're not getting back together. We are raising this baby. That's all. We're on the same page. Or... we _were_ before today. I'm not sure what he...” Petra sighs. “This isn't about Rafael.”

“It's not,” Jane agrees. “But Petra and I are... friends now,” she stumbles over the word. “And our children are going to be siblings. We're family.”

Everyone in the room looks dubious. Petra included.

“That... doesn't explain why she needs to stay _here_ and not at, I don't know _her hotel_.” Xiomara says.

“Right,” Jane swallows, then speaks more quickly than Petra has ever heard. “Well, her most likely genuinely insane and _violent_ ex-boyfriend who she _ran from Russia to escape from_ is trying to force her into a green card marriage against her will. _He_ actually owns her shares of the hotel, so she can't stay there. And since I mentioned earlier, she's _pregnant_ with Mateo's brother or sister, and is a _person in need of our help,_ we came up with a plan to give Michael time to get enough evidence against Milos to arrest him.” Jane takes a much needed breath. Xiomara and Alba stare at her, matching confused looks on their faces.

“So... she's on the run from a Russian... mobster? And she's hiding out with us?” Xiomara asks.

“Essentially yes,” Jane nods, “also we're married,” she adds under her breath. “Let's get Mateo ready for bed!”

“¿Qué?” Alba asks. “No te oí.”

“The plan was that _I_ marry her instead,” Jane says, her words a mumble. “So!” she nearly yells, “Mateo needs his diaper changed, and I'm sure that everyone is hungry since it's so late. Something smells great!” Jane isn't looking at her mother or her grandmother. “Everyone is going to be civil and friendly, because we're all family now, and I have homework.” With that, Jane flees into her bedroom, Mateo in tow. Petra hates her with every inch of her soul for leaving her alone after dropping that bomb.

Xiomara and Alba both turn and gape at Petra. She stands awkwardly in the middle of their living room, her bags at her sides. “It's been a very strange day,” she says quietly.

“¿Casada?” Alba gasps.

“Lo siento,” Petra whispers, with a truly terrible accent. Alba and Xiomara both straighten and snap their attention to her. “I... I _am_ truly sorry for what my mother did to you. And for helping to cover it up. And for any pain I've caused you or Jane.”

“You're _married!?”_ Xiomara yells.

“Civil!” Jane calls out from her bedroom.

“I am...” Xiomara stalks down the hall, “being perfectly fucking civil!” she snaps back loudly.

“Xiomara!” Alba chastises, at the same time that Jane yells, “Ma!”

“Oh, I'm sorry if I'm just a little shocked when my daughter comes home and announces that she got _married_ on a whim to the ex-wife of her son's father, when last night she told me that she finally decided that she wanted to be with her ex-fiancee!”

Alba slumps down onto the couch. Petra desperately wants to leave.

“Ma, it's obviously a complicated situation—” Jane starts.

“Complicated was finding out you were artificially inseminated on accident, this is a whole other level.”

“Ma,” Jane emerges from her bedroom, Mateo in her arms. “It was the best plan we had at the time.” Jane walks back into the living room, addressing her grandmother as well. “Despite Michael's actions, it's _still_ the best plan we have. There are a lot of detectives in Miami, one of them is going to bring Milos to justice. Until then, Petra is staying here. I've had a really long day, and I've got a lot of homework, so I'm not going to talk about it anymore,” she says firmly. Xiomara and Alba both look ready to protest this, but Petra watches as they both sigh and nod instead. “Okay, great,” Jane says. “Let's eat. Petra? You hungry?”

…

…

It doesn't become apparent to Petra that there are only three bedrooms in the house until she is brushing her teeth for the night while Jane finishes her homework. Mateo has been asleep for two hours, and Alba and Xiomara both retired for bed half an hour ago. The only place for her is either the couch, or sharing Jane's bed. Petra knows, that there is no way that Jane will ever consider allowing a pregnant guest in her home to sleep on the couch. She can hear Jane humming softly to Mateo through the door. Petra dares a glance down at her stomach. She isn't showing yet. But for all the nausea, she certainly feels the presence of her child. Its demands to be known. Petra hasn't allowed herself much time to think about it. All she feels is fear. She made a stupid, rash, and desperate decision, and now she is paying for it.

She's being saved for it. There is no way that Jane would be doing all of this for her if she weren't pregnant. She is a good person, but even she has her limits. Petra doesn't blame her in the slightest. She hasn't given Jane or her family a reason to see her as anything other than what she is, toxic. Just like her mother.

Petra considers, for a concerning length of time, barricading herself in here for the remainder of the night, but Jane would think she was sick and break the door down or something else dramatically ridiculous.

Petra looks at herself in the mirror and straightens her shoulders. Her mother hasn't given her many life skills, but she did teach her how to survive. If Jane is willing to go through all this trouble for an unborn sibling of Mateo's, Petra will let her. She doesn't have anything maternal to offer this baby herself. Keeping her child away from Milos, near Jane, it's better than nothing. She shuts off the bathroom light, and closes the door gently before making her way back to Jane's bedroom.

“Hey,” Jane looks up from her book. She's rocking Mateo, waiting for him to burp and go back to sleep. “I'm almost done. I'll turn the light off in a sec, promise.”

“That's fine,” Petra presses the palms of her hands together and glances at the bed. The mood ring on her left finger feels foreign and clunky. Jane watches her staring at the bed and seems to just now come to the same realization as Petra. Her eyes widen.

“Oh, sorry I didn't...” she lets out a bitter laugh. “We didn't really think this through did we?”

“Look Jane,” Petra snaps, “I said you didn't have to do this. Many times. If you want me to leave I'll just—”

“No,” Jane interrupts. “That's not what I...” she rises, gently settling Mateo in his crib. “I meant what I said to my mom. To everyone. This is the best plan we have, and I'm not letting you go back to that creep. It'll work.” She arranges her books on her desk, and clicks the overhead light off, leaving them in dim lamp light. “As long as you're not a kicker,” she jokes.

“I'm not,” Petra snaps, on instinct. She climbs into the bed and rolls away from Jane.

“I'm not either,” Jane offers, climbing in beside Petra. The lamp clicks off, and they're cloaked in darkness. Petra shifts, letting her eyes adjust. Thankfully, Jane's bed is big enough that they're not touching, but only because they're both actively trying not to. Petra misses her huge, soft bed back at The Marbella.

“This _is_ kind of crazy-funny though right?” Jane whispers a moment later. Petra hums in agreement. She can feel Jane tapping her fingers together anxiously. Petra says nothing. Jane's fidgeting increases. Petra closes her eyes and tries to will her body to sleep.

“How come you don't play the violin anymore?” Jane whispers a few minutes later.

“I don't know,” Petra answers. A lie.

“I always wanted to learn how to play an instrument really well. I tried the flute for a bit in fourth grade, but I was terrible. My mom made me quit after I started crying while I practiced. I hated it. But it didn't want to be bad at it.”

Petra hums again. Jane is silent for a full forty seconds before she starts whispering again. “It was actually kind of funny looking back on it. I mean, I was _so bad_ and Abuela would sit there and try to smile and listen and encourage me. And this one neighbor—who was like, just _always_ angry about something—came over and yelled at me to stop. And my mom flipped out on him for it. She actually started throwing almonds at him and chased him halfway down the street for making me cry,” Jane chuckles to herself. “He never came around complaining about anything again. Then he moved away like a year later.”

Petra says nothing in response. She doesn't know what _to_ say. She has no concept of a mother charging after a crotchety old neighbor in her defense. She was terrible at the violin for a full year and a half. Her fingers were constantly sore. Once or twice they bled. She had cried while she practiced too. Many times. But instead of giving her permission to quit something she hated, her mother had smacked her and told her to get on with it. They needed the money. Natalia needed a skill to commodify. Something besides being pretty.

Jane fidgets again and Petra sighs. “So... I mean, are you thinking of going back to The Marbella to work tomorrow?” Jane asks. “Because Milos... I mean, I don't think that you should. Not unless Rafael's there with you. Or me. Or—Michael.” Jane chokes a little on the name. “It just, we don't know what his reaction will be when he sees you. I don't want him to hurt you,” she shifts again, rolling on her side to face Petra's back. “What are you thinking?”

“That I'm very tired,” Petra says as softly as she can manage. Based on Jane's sigh and the way the bed shifts again, it doesn't come out as soft as she tries for.

Jane isn’t an antisocial creature by nature in the way that Petra is; her instinct is to share, to chat. To find common ground. To hash out a plan together. And she’s floundering under Petra's imposed silence. Petra knows that she has to try and meet Jane halfway. She did a _huge_ thing for her. Something that she absolutely did not have to do. And Petra _is_ grateful. Grateful in a way that she cannot express or fully understand. She's grateful, but her guard is still up. They have a plan _now._ Petra is safe _for now._ But, Jane's family isn't going to remain silent in their anger and distrust forever. Jane isn't going to forget that she loves and wants to be with Michael. No matter how angry she is with him right now. Rafael definitely isn't going to just stand by and let Petra be married to Jane without a fuss. Milos is never going to stop. Never going to let her go. Not without taking something in return.

“Oh, that's—sorry,” Jane whispers. “That's fine. We can figure it out in the morning.” A hand comes up and (very softly) rests on Petra's back. No one has touched her this gently in _years._ Maybe ever. “It's going to be okay Petra. I mean, it's definitely going to be weird,” she laughs, “but we'll figure it out.” The hand disappears. Petra hates herself for aching for it. “Goodnight Petra.”

“Goodnight,” she manages to whisper back. Jane shifts again, rolling away from Petra and settling in for sleep. Petra gripes the blanket tightly near her chin and closes her eyes. The mood ring presses against her cheek. She can't make out the color in the dark.

Jane is on her side _for now._ But Petra knows better than to make any place a home, any person; there is no home to go to, only running and running until you fall down.


	2. you must meet my wife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's my birthday today, but you guys get a present!!! updates will start to become more consistant/closer together in a few weeks. i'm working on my fic for the Heroine Big Bang simultaneously atm. 
> 
> thank you so much to Johanna for the help with the Spanish!!

When Petra wakes, Jane is pressed against her back.

Jane's arms are down by her sides, but there isn't any space at all between Jane's front and Petra's back. She shifts, trying to see if she can slip out of the bed without waking Jane. She nearly falls over in the process, but manages to get out of the bed unscathed.

Petra doesn't know what the protocol is here. She's never actually been a guest in someone else's home. She can only remember having one sleepover as a child. None of the girls left Anya's bedroom until they were all awake. Only bounding into the kitchen and bathroom as a gang. Giggling at the sight of Anya's half dressed older brother.

Petra desperately has to use the bathroom, but she's not sure if she should venture out there or not until Jane wakes.

It's an utterly ridiculous and childish notion. She doesn't need Jane's permission to use _the bathroom_. Petra squares her shoulders and slips out of the bedroom, tip toeing down the hall and dashing into the open bathroom. She has the same idiotic thought of barricading herself in here until someone comes and forces her out, but she refuses to stoop to that level of pathetic. Not to mention, she can hear someone coming down the hall.

“Oh,” Xiomara says as Petra opens the door. “Morning.” It's as stilted and cold as a greeting could be. Petra returns it. Xiomara glares, and here it comes, the woman who chased a crotchety old man down the street for making Jane cry. “I'm not going to let you take advantage of my daughter,” she warns thinly. “Janie concocted this ridiculous plan because she's a good person, and she wants to help. But I don't trust you,” she sighs. “I'm not just going to throw a pregnant woman out on the street, but if you hurt Jane, in any way, I'm not above dumping you at a hospital or something.”

“Got it,” Petra snaps. Xiomara sucks in an angry breath. Petra waits, but when Jane's mother doesn't say anything else, merely motions for Petra to move out of the doorway, Petra nods and steps aside. “It's fine if you don't trust me,” she finds herself adding. “I wouldn't trust me either. But I have no intentions of hurting Jane or her family.” Petra stands taller. “I don't do grateful very well, but I _am_.”

Xiomara nods once before closing the bathroom door. “The kitchen's down the hall. I'm sure my mother is waiting to have the same conversation with you,” she offers, a little smugly.

 _Great._ Petra sucks in a breath and walks into the kitchen with purpose. She's not afraid of someone's grandmother. Not even Jane's. Indeed, Alba is sitting at the small kitchen table, wearing a light bathrobe and clutching a mug of coffee. She looks up at Petra's entrance and frowns before she catches herself.

“Good morning,” Petra says.

“Buenos días,” Alba responds softly.

“Um, coffee?” Petra asks after a beat of silence. Alba points to the coffee pot. There are a few clean, empty mugs beside it. Petra shakes a little sugar into the bottom of a mug, then pours the coffee into it. Holding the too hot beverage under her lips and praying that Jane wakes up and comes in here soon.

“Usted fue criada por una mujer terrible,” Alba says with purpose. Petra turns around and frowns at her. “Por eso lo siento.”

“I... I'm sorry Mrs Villanueva, I really don't understand much—”

“No, por favor déjame decir esto,” Alba interrupts. Petra only understands _please._ And, possibly, _say._ She sits down opposite Alba and listens anyway. “Sin embargo, ahora eres una mujer. Y a partir de este momento, sus acciones son solamente suyas.”

“Abuela!” Jane steps into the kitchen with Mateo in her arms.

“Necesitaba decir esto, Jane,” Alba waves at her firmly. “Tradúce para ella, y habremos terminado con esto.”

Jane sighs and shifts her hold on Mateo a little. Turning to Petra, she gives her an apologetic look. “She said that—”

“No, no, espera,” Alba interrupts. “Usted fu e crióada por una mujer terrible, y por eso lo siento. Empieza con eso.”

“¡Abuela!”

“Jane,” Alba says firmly. “Díselo.”

Jane huffs, and turns back to Petra. “She said that you were raised by a terrible woman, and she's sorry for that.” Petra feels her eyes go wide. Jane looks uncomfortable, but presses on. “But she says that now, you're a woman, and from now on your actions are your own.” Petra swallows down her anger as Jane quickly turns to Alba and passes her Mateo. “And _now,_ we are done with that,” she declares firmly.

“Done with what?” Xiomara asks, stepping into the kitchen as she ties up her wet hair.

“Done with any hostility towards Petra being here. Okay, you've both said your peace, she's apologized, we're all moving on.”

“Sí, está bien,” Alba agrees.

“Fine,” Xiomara huffs. “But I still can't believe that you got _married._ Really officially married?”

“Yes Ma, really, officially married. Rings and all.” Jane holds out her mood ring in front of her mother's face, and Xiomara laughs for the first time since Petra's been here. “Lina got them,” Jane explains.

“Did they come with a code for the colors?” Xiomara asks, a little teasingly.

“I don't know, maybe. Lina might have it.” Jane sits down beside Alba and begins nursing Mateo.

Petra tries not to react to the complete casualness of it all. No one else bats an eye, so Petra doesn't either. She doesn't think that she has ever actually seen a baby being nursed before. Unconsciously, she glances down at her own breasts. She supposes she'll nurse her own baby as well. Before... she'd planned to use formula. But watching Jane, it seems like the most natural thing in the world. Petra sips her coffee and forces her eyes away from Jane's chest. It doesn't matter yet. Her baby's just a small collection of cells right now.

“Are you drinking coffee?” Jane asks a moment later. The judgement apparent in her tone.

Petra bristles as all three Villanueva women turn towards her. “A cup of coffee isn't going to kill my baby Jane,” she snaps.

“No, I wasn't—”

“You were,” Petra interrupts. “I can't just go from having four or five cups a day to nothing, I'll kill someone or snap at a guest.”

“That's not—” Jane stops herself and softens her voice, switching Mateo to the other breast in one fluid, practiced motion. “What I meant was that the doctors told me that one cup a day is alright to have. And if you want to try supplementing with some black tea later in the day while you're getting used to less caffeine, that helped me. We've still got some in the pantry. I wasn't judging,” she promises with a laugh. “I almost killed my mom when I tried to quit cold turkey the first week.”

“She did,” Xiomara says. “It wasn't pretty.”

“Ma, I can only apologize so many times,” Jane says through gritted teeth. “Ouch, Mateo!” Jane gasps and looks up excitedly at them all. “I think he's getting teeth!!” she yells excitedly. “Oh my god that _hurt_ ,” she smiles down at him in awe. Petra can't imagine that a baby biting her nipple is anything to smile about, but she doesn't voice her opinion. Especially not when Xiomara starts to dance.

…

…

The bouquet of yellow tulips resting on her office desk stops Petra in her tracks.

She drops her purse and stares at it. Like some sort of telenovela cliché. Her mother sometimes talked about the Sight and would claim that she knew just when a spider would be spinning its web inside the pantry, or when prices for milk would go up, again. Petra never put a lot of faith into it, chalked it all up to Old Country superstition. Her spine prickles now all the same, and she can't seem to get her legs to move forward.

“Petra, I—” Jane starts as she hurries into the office, Mateo nowhere in sight. Petra had gone ahead in the hopes that Jane would just go give Mateo to Rafael and be on her way. No such luck. “What's that?” she asks, after knocking into Petra and peering around her.

“Yellow tulips,” Petra croaks.

“I can see _that,”_ Jane rolls her eyes. “I meant why are you...” Jane gasps and grips Petra's forearm. “They're from Milos?” she asks, her voice grave.

“It's his... calling card of sorts.” Petra swallows, trying not to show her increasing panic to Jane. She must sense it anyhow, because her face twists into an angry frown and the grip on Petra's arm tightens.

“He can't do that,” she growls.

Petra laughs bitterly. “Obviously he can. Jane, we knew this was a ridiculous plan from the start. I'm not... I'm not letting you bring yourself and your family into this. Just, go to school and I'll—”

Jane runs out of Petra's office. “Where is he!?” she yells.

Petra's stomach drops. “Jane!” her voice cracks again in fear. “Come back here!” Petra dashes out after Jane, fully prepared to tackle her to the ground if need be. Pregnant or not. Luckily, Rafael catches her first.

“What are you—”

“We're going to go kick Milos out of the hotel!” Jane yells into Rafael's face. Petra blanches at the ferocity. So does Rafael.

“What?” he asks.

“He can't just—Petra is—he is _not allowed—_ ” Jane sucks in a breath. “I'm going to kill him,” she declares, far too calmly. “Go give Mateo to Lina, she's working today. You and I are going to tell Milos that he is not allowed to go _anywhere_ near Petra _._ He's not allowed to leave stuff to scare her. He's not _welcome here._ Come on!” Jane yanks Rafael's arm and he looks to Petra in confusion and panic.

“Jane, _no,”_ Petra insists firmly. Grabbing her arm and holding her in place. “That won't work. It will just make him angry. And technically, he has every right to be here. His shares in The Marbella are equal to Raf's. You can't actually kick him out. The hotel is partly his.”

“Petra's right,” Rafael agrees. “Besides, I don't think he would take your threats seriously.” Jane glares up at him so spectacularly that Rafael nearly stumbles backwards. Petra has never seen anything so attractive in her life. Rafael swallows nervously and Petra finds herself smiling. “Or... he might. But _still,_ Jane you can't just go get right up in an international criminal's face and threaten him.”

“If he's threatening my wife I can if I want!” Jane screams. Everyone in the lobby turns and stares at them. Petra hears Lina wolf whistle from somewhere behind the bar. Scott gapes at Petra. She straightens and glares at him until he shrinks away.

“Yeah, about that,” Rafael starts. “How... legal is this exactly? I mean you guys didn't _actually—_ ”

“Raf!” Luisa calls from across the lobby.

“Oh great,” Petra mumbles. It's not that she doesn't like Luisa, but in all the years that Petra was married to Rafael, the siblings were at odds with each other. Petra never had much of a desire to make friends, and Rafael avoided his sister at all costs. So, Petra has never really spent more than half an hour or so with her at any given time.

“Hey, oh Mateo! Oh my god he's so _cute,_ ” Luisa bends towards him and Rafael stiffens. Luisa notices and straightens immediately, her smile dropping. Petra watches Jane frown at the exchange. “What's going on?” Luisa asks all of them.

“Nothing,” Rafael snaps.

“Rafael's mad because Petra and I got married yesterday,” Jane supplies matter-of-factly. Luisa's eyes go comically wide. “And because he got Michael fired, and then got into a fist fight with him. Which is how Mateo got hurt.” Her voice still catches as she looks down at the bandage on her son's arm. “And now, he won't help me kick out the criminal threatening his ex-wife and the mother of his child,” Jane shakes her head. “Other child. Soon to be—Petra.” Jane waves in her general direction.

“That's...” Luisa looks between each of them. “A lot of information.” She looks unsure of which topic to bring up first. “Criminal ex huh?” she directs at Petra. “I've got one of those,” she lets out a little laugh and elbows Petra lightly. Rafael stiffens considerably. His mouth pinching into a thin line. “She's never threatened me though,” Luisa frowns. “But she did get me locked up in a mental institution.”

“And killed our father,” Rafael snaps. Luisa visibly deflates into herself.

“Yeah,” she whispers. Petra and Jane stand awkwardly side by side. Jane glances up at her, looking for direction. Petra merely shrugs. She's never known what to do when they fight. Usually, she just walks away and leaves them to it. Luisa looks back over at them. “So... I didn't know that you two were dating. Or, into women.”

“We're not. Dating,” Jane explains. “We weren't... I told Petra to marry me instead of Milos. It was kind of a Hail Mary type rescue plan.”

Luisa looks up at Petra. Studies her just a little too long for Petra's comfort. She glares back at her and Luisa smiles smugly. “Huh, that's... generous,” she finally says.

“Yes, we all know that Jane is a good person,” Petra snaps. “I'm going to go to work now.” She turns to Jane. “Don't confront Milos. You'll only make things worse.”

“Fine,” Jane sighs. “But! If he sends you any more flowers or something we have to tell the police.”

“Maybe,” Petra walks out of the lobby.

“Not maybe!” Jane calls after her. “Petra! Not maybe! Yes-y.”

…

…

Petra only has two hours to herself before Milos shows up. Her tongue is stained blue, and she's already succumbed and had a second cup of coffee. The first one she threw up. So, it probably doesn't even count.

“You left me at the altar,” he accuses as he walks into her office. “We had a deal. One year.”

“The deal is off Milos,” Petra says, far more firmly than she feels. “I'm married to someone else. If you want control of your shares back, that's fine. I'll leave. But you have to leave me alone. No more sending tulips, or showing up where you're not wanted.”

“Who is this man?” he asks, stepping closer towards the desk. “Rafael? I'll kill him,” he hisses under his breath.

“No, it's not Rafael. It doesn't matter who it is, because you aren't going to go anywhere near her.”

“You left me for a woman?” Milos yells. “Again?” his face twists angrily, and he slams his fist down on the table, causing Petra to jump. “You said that was a phase!”

Petra sighs. “It was,” she stares up at him, schooling her face. Hardening herself and lowering her voice and octave. “It was a phase in my life where I was in love with Tatiana and not you. This is _also_ a phase in my life where I'm not in love with you. That phase has been continuing on for quite a few years Milos. It's one I'm confident that I'll remain in for life.”

Milos gapes back at her, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Petra can feel the coiled violence thrumming underneath his skin, itching to come out. She can't believe that she once looked at him and felt safe. Loved.

Milos bends forward, forcing Petra to lean back in her seat. His nose connects with her own, his breath hot and heavy on her mouth. “I do not accept this,” he hisses, in Czech.

“It's already done,” she answers back. She's barely spoken a word of Czech in months. Not since her mother went to prison. Milos glares down at her for a few seconds, holding his face directly near hers before huffing and pulling away.

“Ivan will be here in my absence,” he informs her cooly. Smoothing down the front of his shirt. “Do not think you have won this.”

As he leaves a cold and dreadful feeling settles like a stone in her stomach. It spindles icily up her spine and Petra has to close her eyes and count her breaths: in, and out.

She only manages to count to forty before Rafael bursts into her office. “What are you _doing_ with Jane?” he whispers forcefully. Mateo is sound asleep in his stroller.

“Rafael,” Petra sighs, more tired than should be possible. “I really, _really_ can't do this right now.”

“No, we are doing this. You somehow got the mother of my child to _marry you_ in some ploy... You can't take advantage of Jane's goodwill like this. We are going to talk about—”

“I'm _also_ the mother of your child, or have you forgotten that already?” Petra snaps. “Jane was trying to help. _Did_ help. And I'm _exhausted_ and nauseous, and I don't care how you feel about this Rafael. I just don't.” Petra sags into her chair. She wants another cup of coffee. One so hot it scalds her tongue. Maybe then she will have something to focus on other than her stomach doing constant flip flops and her pounding head. Something other than the fact that part of her thinks Rafael is _right_. She doesn't deserve Jane's kindness. Not an ounce of it.

“Oh, I remember the fact that you _stole_ my sperm and inseminated yourself in a pathetic attempt to get me back,” Rafael goads. He's shaking with barely contained anger. Petra has known him long enough to detect that this has far more to do with whatever conversation he just finished having with his sister, and much less to do with Petra herself. No matter how angry he is about this marriage.

“Yes Rafael, I made a terrible, _stupid_ mistake. And now I'm dealing with it. I suggest you start to do the same.” Petra sits up in her seat, her heels clacking against each other. She crosses her arms and glares up at him indifferently. “Now, would you like to stay and talk about work? Or would you like to leave so I can actually get something productive done today?”

Rafael clenches and unclenches his fists against Mateo's stroller, then sighs. “If you hurt Jane—in any way—I promise I'll make you sorry for it.”

Because she is overtired, or nauseous, or frightened of what Milos and Ivan may do, Petra smirks up at Rafael cruelly. “She's rejected you. More than once.” Rafael visibly flinches from her words. And it fuels something inside of herself that Petra hates. The two of them always, _always_ know exactly where to hit each other so it will hurt the most. “Jane is in love with Michael.” Her smirk twists and Rafael swallows and backs away from her. “It's far past time you got that through your head.”

Rafael laughs at her bitterly. “God,” he shakes his head, staring down at the floor for a moment before looking up and meeting Petra in the eye. “You are such a bitch,” he says calmly. Then pushes Mateo's stroller out the door and leaves.

Petra bends over and vomits into the wastebasket. It feels deserved.

…

…

“There you are!” Jane calls out as Petra makes her way across the lobby. “I've been calling you for hours.”

“Oh, sorry. People were being incredibly stupid today, so I took the phone off the receiver.”

Jane pauses at that and frowns at her. “We've got to get you a new cell phone.”

Petra shrugs. It felt a little freeing that no one could get in contact with her. After her assistant delivered her lunch, Petra had locked herself in her office. Chair propped up under the door for good measure. She's had more than enough confrontation for the day.

“Did Milos send anything else?” Jane asks, her hands reaching out and connecting lightly with Petra's arm. She stares down at it before they walk outside.

“No,” she looks up, flipping her hair out of her eyes. “He stopped by though. Made some lovely threats. Even if he gets deported, Ivan will still be here.”

Jane's face scrunches up in anger. “If either of them threaten you, or send more creepy flowers, we _have_ to go tell the police.”

Petra looks at Jane. She is serious. Petra nods, though she has no intention in doing so. Ivan isn't someone to mess with. Petra and her mother got lucky the last time. Nothing more. Jane relaxes and the two of them fall into step with each other as they leave The Marbella. Before they can make their way to the sidewalk, a limo pulls up in front of them, and Jane's father steps out.

“Jane!” he calls out excitedly.

“Oh no,” Jane mumbles. “He knows.”

“Knows what?” Petra asks. Before Jane can answer, they are both pulled into a tight hug by Rogelio. He squeezes them both before releasing Petra and hugging only Jane.

“You're married!” he shouts happily. Bouncing up and down in excitement. “My daughter is married!” he yells to everyone in the vicinity. "Though, I do wish I had been there to give you away. Xiomara says you eloped. So, I will forgive this slight." 

“Uh, Dad...”

Rogelio lets go of Jane and beams at Petra. Before she can step away from him, she's wrapped up into another bone crushing hug. “My daughter in law,” he sighs happily before loosening his grip and looking to Jane. “I'll be honest, I wanted it to be Michael.” He looks at Jane intently. “Because of our bromance.” Petra has never heard an adult use that phrase seriously in her life. He grins at Petra and she tries to wriggle out of his grip more. “But I'm just so happy that you are happy.”

“Dad—”

“I've put together a party!” Rogelio loops arms with both of them and drags them towards the car. “And I've tweeted the fabulous news to all of my followers!”

“Oh god,” Jane mumbles.

“What?” Petra hisses. “A party?”

“A _brilliant_ party. Let me hold little Matelio!”

“Jane,” Petra whispers as she's shoved into the back of a stretch limo. “I don't want to go to a party. I've been nauseous all day.”

“I'm sorry,” Jane whispers back, truly looking it. “Honestly, it's probably easiest to just go and indulge him for a few minutes and then slip out.”

“Or, you could tell him that this is a platonic marriage of convenience. And that a party is not necessary.” Petra hisses back.

Jane bites her lip as Rogelio squeals happily after taking a selfie of the three of them. He tweets it immediately. Petra's almost sure she's glaring in the photograph. He gave them no warning. “I don't honestly think that will work,” Jane whispers.

Rogelio gasps, looking down at his phone. “Wait, what last name do you have? I'll have to update all of my profiles.”

“Dad... your last name isn't any different,” Jane says warily.

“I know that Jane,” Rogelio says, as if she's just said something ridiculous. “But I have you and Matelio listed in all of my profiles as my family. I've got to add Petra now.” He turns to Petra and stares at her, his finger hovering over his phone.

“Oh, Villanueva,” she says once she realizes what he's after. Rogelio beams at her and types away furiously.

“Dad, it's... this marriage is actually a little bit complicated,” Jane begins.

“No,” Rogelio says firmly. “It's finally been legalized across the country. If anyone says anything even remotely homophobic, my fans will make them rue the day that they were born!” he cuts his hand through the air and nearly poses. And Petra had thought that Jane's mother was dramatic.

“That's... very sweet Dad. But not _exactly_ what I meant.”

“We're here!” Rogelio yells. The limo pulls to a stop and Rogelio bursts out, announcing _The new and improved Villanueva family_ to whomever is out there. It sounds like far too many people than Petra wants to deal with.

She is pulled out of the limo and her hands are maneuvered until they are clasped with Jane's. Rogelio holds their entwined hands up like they're olympic athletes to a crowd full of people who begin cheering. Petra turns and looks over at Jane. She looks as panicked and uncomfortable by the whole thing as Petra feels.

Petra doesn't recognize anyone in the crowd at first, but there seem to be over a hundred people here. Rogelio leads the two of them around, making introductions. Mateo thankfully remains sleeping in Jane's arms. After about five minutes too many of receiving air kisses from people in the entertainment industry, Jane's mother finds them and intervenes. Alba, and surprisingly, Luisa trail behind her.

Jane falls gratefully into her mother's arms, passing Mateo to her grandmother. Petra is left standing awkwardly beside Rogelio until Luisa slips over and loops their arms together, pulling Petra away a little.

“So,” she grins mischievously, “how's married life going for you the second time around?”

Petra rolls her eyes and goes to grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter before she remembers. Her hand hangs awkwardly in the air for a moment and Luisa raises an eyebrow at her. “Why are you here?” Petra asks, a little more harshly than she intended.

Luisa doesn't react. She's known Petra long enough to be used to it by now. “I was invited,” she shrugs and grabs both of them glasses of water. “So was Raf.”

Petra chokes on her water. “He's _here?”_

“No,” Luisa snorts. “He's furious. At you _and_ me,” she scrunches her face up. “And I guess Jane too,” she shrugs. “Either way, he's not coming. Michael's not here either as far as I can tell. I think he really was fired.”

Petra takes a moment to feel bad about that in a way that _isn't_ just because Michael was going to help her with Milos. It doesn't last as long as it probably should.

“So, does your mother know?” Luisa asks absently.

“I think I'm going to be sick,” Petra moans, clutching her stomach.

“Okay, okay. Come on,” Luisa quickly drags her inside of whomever's home they are at and finds a bathroom in record time. Petra immediately bends over and spills her lunch into the toilet. Luisa pulls her hair out of her face, and gently rubs Petra's back. “You're okay,” she says softly.

“I _hate_ this baby,” Petra cries once she's done.

Luisa hands her a wetted tissue with a grimace. “That's okay, you're allowed.”

“No I'm not.”

“Says who?” Luisa asks.

Petra slumps beside the toilet and the bathtub and glares up at Luisa. “Everyone.”

Luisa shrugs. “You've never given a shit what anybody thinks about you. Don't start now. You wanna hate the baby for making you puke, go for it.” They are both silent for a minute. Petra rises from the floor once the queasiness seems to be gone and rinses out her mouth. “So, _does_ your mother know?” Luisa asks again.

Petra freezes. “Sviňák,” she hisses under her breath.

Luisa laughs and laughs and laughs. Completely despite herself, Petra feels a smile tug at her mouth.

…

…

Petra sucks in a breath, and presses Jane's cellphone to her ear. The automated Miami state correctional facility message plays out as she waits, and then an employee tells her that her call will be monitored. And then her mother's gravelly voice fills her ear.

“You married that annoying woman?” she snaps. “Petra, honestly I didn't think you were this stupid.”

Petra blanches, she has no idea _how_ her mother already knows. “I—Mother how did you—”

“That idiot father of hers. The telenovela man. He tweets. I see,” she sighs, clearly disappointed. “How did you get this stupid? First you get yourself pregnant, now this.”

“It... seemed like a good idea at the time,” Petra mumbles. Magda scoffs. “It _did_ ,” Petra insists. “I—what would have me do Mother? Marry Milos?”

“No,” Magda says firmly. “But honestly, how is _she_ going to protect you from Milos?” she clicks her tongue. “Petra. Having her father tweet at his fans to keep Milos from you isn't going to do anything.”

“What?” Petra asks. She knows that Jane finally managed to explain the situation to her father by the time the party ended. He was momentarily disappointed, then wrapped Petra up in a tight hug for the third time that day and welcomed her into the family anyway. Petra doesn't find him as irritating as she initially thought.

“What are a bunch of horny housewives going to do? Throw their wine at him?” Magda jokes.

“That would be entertaining,” Petra quips.

“Do not get comfortable Petra. This girl is not your family. Surprise me, be smarter than I think you are.” The line clicks and Petra is left listening to the dial tone. Her legs shake when she rises from the edge of the bathtub. She'd hoped that somehow, taking to her mother would make her feel better. Everyone would know. Perhaps she'd even be a little proud that Petra managed to find a way to get herself out of Milos' clutches, however temporarily. She should know better than that by now.

She is somehow more tired than she was last night. She didn't think it was possible. Petra slips down the hall and into Jane's room silently. It takes a second to find her voice, and when she does manage to speak, it cracks. “Thank you,” she swallows, hoping Jane doesn't notice. “For letting me use your phone.”

Jane shrugs, pulling the blankets back on the bed. “Of course. How'd she take it? Better or worse than my mom?” Jane jokes.

“Better,” Petra climbs into the bed, Jane following suit. “But not by much.”

“I'm sorry,” Jane says softly. 

Petra shrugs. “Apparently your father has asked his fans to protect us from Milos.”

Jane snorts. “I know. He kept texting me the responses before you called your mom. His fans are crazy loyal,” Jane props her head up underneath her palm. “It might actually help a little.” Petra doesn't say anything and Jane's voice softens further. “Tomorrow will be better,” she promises. “More normal.”

Petra looks at her dubiously and Jane laughs, melodic and light. Petra gets it, why Rafael and Michael are so desperate for her affections. Jane reaches over and shuts out the light, and her hand rubs Petra's forearm lightly. Soothingly. It's jarring, to go from this morning, with Milos and Rafael's threats and accusations, to Luisa of all people, rubbing her back as she vomits, and Rogelio's bone crushing hugs, to this: light, calm, reassuring touches from Jane. Petra wants desperately to sink into it. To enjoy it while it lasts, but her mother's words ring out in her ears.

 _Do not get comfortable Petra_.


	3. sorry-grateful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy easter if yall celebrate it, if not, have a lovely sunday:)

Somehow, a week goes by with no sign of either Milos or Ivan. Alba and Xiomara seem to have nothing else to say about Petra being there, apart from a few tiny remarks muttered underneath their breath. Jane is so busy trying to catch up on school, that Petra only really sees her in the mornings and evenings. The rest of her days are spent just as they always were, working at The Marbella. Except now, she goes home to the Villanueva household, instead of an empty suite.

Petra isn't used to sharing a bed with someone that she isn't also sleeping with. Even then, she's never been particularly comfortable with it. And as far as she knows, Jane isn't used to it at all.

(Petra doesn't think about Michael sleeping over. The image grates at her for reasons she can't explain and doesn't care to dwell on.)

Nights are awkward at best and uncomfortable more often than not. Jane is constantly trying to make the situation seem normal and routine. She chatters away as she nurses and rocks Mateo to sleep, Petra scrolling through her emails and humming at what she hopes are the appropriate places. Half of the time, Petra ignores her. Especially when Jane is trying to study, yet for some reason, still trying to include Petra somehow. Frustrating them both beyond belief.

“Just work!” Petra snaps on Thursday night. Jane freezes and turns to glare at Petra. “You keep saying how much work you have to do and apologizing. I'm not a guest who needs to be entertained Jane. If you need to work, then for god's sake, work. Some silence would be nice. It's not going to bother me.”

Jane looks poised to start an argument, then pauses, thinking it over. Thankfully, she shrugs. “Okay,” she turns back to her computer.

Petra sighs in relief and rearranges the pillows behind her. Two hours go by and neither of them speak. Jane turns on some music after about half an hour, quietly playing in the background. Petra catches her humming along and smiles before answering an email about booking a sweet sixteen party in a few weeks.

It's the first night where they both just slip into bed without any awkwardness at all.

…

…

Petra pounds on the bathroom door frantically.

“I'm in the shower!” Jane's voice yells back.

“I'm coming in!” Petra doesn't wait for an answer, bursting through the unlocked door and vomiting into the toilet. She can hear Jane's yelps of protest at the intrusion, then disgust once the vomit starts. She ignores them both, groaning in pain and cursing the stowaway in her uterus. Inseminating herself was absolutely one of the worst ideas Petra has ever had.

Jane's head appears from behind the curtain. “You okay?” she asks softly.

“No!” Petra snaps, slumping over onto the toilet seat after she flushes. Jane yelps in protest as the water goes cold. “Sorry,” Petra mumbles. “It smelled.”

“Janie, have you seen my green shirt?” Xiomara asks, walking through the now open bathroom door. “Oh,” she grimaces, noticing Petra on the floor. “There's some mouthwash under the sink,” she offers, holding out a towel to Jane.

Petra groans and vomits again.

Jane steps out of the shower, wrapped in the towel. Her hand lightly rubs Petra's back as she passes by her towards the sink. “The one with the sequins?” she asks her mother.

“Yeah.”

“I think I saw it in the wash last night.”

“Shit,” Xiomara dashes out of the bathroom. “I'm already late.”

Jane's hand hasn't left Petra's back. “You think you're done?” she asks, her wet hair dripping a little onto Petra's nightshirt. It should feel like an annoyance. An intrusion on Petra's personal space. It doesn't.

“For now,” Petra says, in what can only be described as a pout. She doesn't have the energy to care. “It's not fair that this didn't happen to you.”

Jane chuckles lightly and passes her the mouthwash. “I'm sorry.”

“You're not,” Petra swigs the mouthwash inelegantly. Spitting it out into the sink and slowly rising up from the floor. Now that she's upright, she does feel better. At least once the nausea is gone, it's _gone._ “You're thrilled this didn't happen to you,” she accuses.

“Well...” Jane reaches around Petra and squirts some body lotion into her hands. She shrugs as she applies it onto her shoulders and arms. “I'm relieved, yeah. But I'm not like, _happy_ about it happening to you.”

Petra narrows her eyes.

“I'm _not,”_ Jane exclaims. “I've been doing some reading actually, and there are a lot of different things that can potentially help you with the nausea. A bunch of different teas and essential oils. Ginger tea, peppermint...”

“I hate tea.”

“Well, you could try eating more bananas and avocado...”

“I'm fine Jane,” Petra sighs. “Don't worry about it,” she moves closer towards the shower and crosses her arms. “Can I take a shower now?” the question comes out more impatiently than she intended. They always seem to. Even when she's _trying_ to make her voice soft.

Jane hangs back for a moment, poised to say something Petra is sure will make her feel a thousand times worse than she already does. Jane must sense it somehow, because instead she nods to herself and slips out of the bathroom.

Petra peels off her clothes with too much force, frustrated by everything. She hates herself, for acting on the idiotic assumption that if she were to become pregnant, it would fix everything between her and Rafael. She's sick of constantly looking over her shoulder for Ivan. Of being in the way of one of the Villanueva women, no matter what she's doing. Of having an apology forever on the tip of her tongue when all she wants to do is scream.

She ties her hair up into a bun, then turns the water on as hot as she can stand it. When she finally stops scrubbing herself clean, her skin is too pink and a little raw.

…

…

Petra's first kiss is Fillip Novak in the second grade. He tugs on one of her stringy little braids and offers her half of his turkey and cheese sandwich when he sees that she has no lunch of her own apart from a browning apple. They commiserate over living in the same cramped apartment complex in-between bites. He thinks that it would be wonderful to live with his only his mother like Petra. Instead, he shares with his parents, four brothers, and one baby sister all in a small two room apartment. His father always complaining angrily about the Georgian neighbors upstairs. He tells her that he has to share a bed with his two older brothers. The younger two get a mound of blankets to share on the floor. His baby sister sleeps in his parent's bed. Petra offers him sleepovers and a pair of her pants that fit him better than his older brother's hand-me-downs. He kisses her during a game of Sardines while they're hiding together underneath the hot metal slide at recess.

Petra thinks she loves him until the start of third grade, when, after spending nearly the entire summer together, instead of defending her to Alisa Kolinsky, he tells Petra that she's too boney and her mother doesn't wash her hair enough. Alisa laughs, loud and cruel and all the other kids join in. Petra jumps at him, nearly feral, and holds him down and rubs his face in the dirt, hissing that he's even poorer than she is, and she wants her pants back. Fillip manages to shove her off, cursing her out and stalking away to join a pack of boys.

She finds her pants, ripped and smelling of urine on her doorstep that afternoon. Alisa holds Fillips hand every day during recess for months.

Petra's other first kiss is Klara Lanik in the fifth grade. She's still far too boney, and her hair is still tangled into somewhat dirty braids, but Klara smiles at her anyway. Slips her hand into Petra's and takes off at a run. Laughing as they stumble down the length of the creek, avoiding rocks and mud as they tug each other along. Calls her Nata and cheers her on as she successfully uses the rope swing to get across. Petra catches Klara when she swings across after, too much momentum and crashing them both into the dirt, still damp from the rain the day before. Klara stops laughing just before Petra does, looking nervous for half a second before leaning down. Before she knows what's happening, Klara's lips are pressed lightly against Petra's own. It lasts a few seconds longer than her kiss with Fillip, but not by much. Klara pulls back and smiles. “Race you back,” she teases, jumping off Petra and taking off again.

“Wait!” Petra yells, “that's not fair!” clambering to her feet and trying to catch up.

“Come on Nata!” she runs backwards for a few steps, her bright red hair catching the sunlight. Petra falls in love instantaneously.

Petra is invited to have diner in Klara's grandmother's small apartment. Klara, her parents, her older sister, her aunt and uncle, and two cousins all gather around the kitchen table, elbows knocking together with each bite. Petra and Klara share a chair, their thighs pressed together, both trying not to laugh or fall off. When Petra asks Klara's mother when they will get their own apartment she scoffs, “We're on a list.”

Klara is delighted when Petra tells her that they finally got phone lines installed in her apartment complex. They call each other every day after school, monopolizing Klara's grandmother's phone line. Klara accompanies her when Magda sends Petra out to buy groceries, their pinkies linked together, swinging their hands back and forth as they walk. Klara runs ahead and grabs the last jug of milk on the shelf, while Petra frowns at the meager offerings of bread. Half the shelves in the store empty or close to. Klara manages to sneak a green apple Jolly Rancher when the clerk's back is turned away. Splitting it in half with a small rock to share with Petra as they walk home.

Four months later, Klara calls Petra in tears to tell her that they've finally been assigned their own flat, in Plzeň. They were finally moved up on the list because of her father's new job. Petra cries into the phone with Klara for an hour until her mother comes home and hangs it up callously.

They say their goodbyes at the creek, clutching each other tightly and sobbing. This time, Petra is the one to lean in and presses their lips together. Klara can't smile when they pull apart. She squeezes Petra tightly once more, then rubs her tears with the back of her arm and runs home. Petra cries herself to sleep for a week, and vows never to fall in love again.

She doesn't, until she's aching for affection and man touches her gently and gives her a violin.

But even that it seems, was a lie.

…

…

Petra holds Mateo as if he were a bomb about to go off at any moment.

Alba is at physical therapy (and every mention of that causes Petra's chest to clench uncomfortably) and Jane is desperately trying to finish a paper for her class tomorrow. Xiomara had deposited Mateo into her arms as she ran to pay the pizza boy.

Mateo stares back at Petra, he has (according to Jane) developed the ability to track movement and recognize people. Jane came home from a Mommy and Me class two days ago (the idea of which Petra finds horrifying and will not ever be attending) shouting to the rooftops about Mateo blinking at her. Petra can't imagine how _blinking_ is such miraculous news, but Jane was nearly in tears all night long.

Petra tilts her head to one side. Indeed, Mateo's eyes follow her. She tilts her head to the other side. The pizza boy is trying—quite pathetically—to flirt with Xiomara. Petra sticks out her tongue at Mateo and wiggles it from side to side. He blinks. Petra has no desire to cry, nor cheer him on.

She's not sure if that means Jane is crazy for being so overwhelmed by her son, or if Petra is a robot for not caring.

It's probably her.

Xiomara finally pushes the horny twenty-something off of the porch and walks back into the kitchen with the pizza box. Petra tries to make herself look more comfortable holding the baby. From the frown on Xiomara's face, she does not succeed, but Xiomara makes no move to take the baby back. Instead she sets about getting plates and napkins, yelling out to Jane to take a break and come eat.

Jane comes into the kitchen after Xiomara has called her again, twice, her laptop in her hands. “Ma, I have to get an A on this, I can't...” Xiomara takes the laptop out of Jane's hands and shuts it. “Ma!” Jane screeches, clawing for it back.

“It autosaves your work,” Xiomara says, holding it above her head. Jane jumps for it, Petra laughs before she can stifle it.

Jane turns to her, suddenly, as if she forgot about Petra entirely. Her gaze drops down to Mateo, still in Petra's arms, mostly content now that Petra is cradling him properly. Or, at the very least, not holding him out like it might explode. Jane opens her mouth, as if to ask a question, and seems to think better of it.

“What?” Petra asks.

“Nothing,” Jane says and turns back to her mother. “Ma, I need that. I'm almost done and then I'll—”

“If you're almost done, then you can pause and eat a piece of pizza.” Xiomara points at the empty chair beside Petra. “Sit,” she orders. Jane slumps down with a childish pout on her face. It doesn't look as ridiculous as Petra once thought. It might even be a little charming. Petra frowns at that thought, clearly the result of the baby in her arms, or exhaustion. She leans over and pushes Mateo into Jane's arms hastily.

“Hello little man,” Jane coos.

Petra frowns at the way her stomach flutters as she watches them. She takes the slice of pizza Xiomara offers and bites into it much harder than necessary. She eats three slices to distract herself. She'll just end up throwing them up in the morning anyway.

…

…

“He gave me a B minus!” Jane yells, brandishing her paper in the air. “A _friggin_ _B_ _minus!_ _”_ She paces back and forth in front of Petra, her arms flinging more wildly with each word. Petra looks around the house for someone else to come and deal with this, but Xiomara and Alba are both nowhere to be found. It figures, the one time Petra actually _wants_ them here.

“Isn't... a B is a good grade?” Petra shrugs. She remembers getting Bs on tests all the time in school.

Jane looks at Petra like she's just smacked her across the face. “I've never gotten less than an A minus in my whole life,” she whines. “Now I'm someone who's gotten a B minus,” her voice drops to a shameful whisper, “ _and_ a C plus.”

Petra has no idea how she should respond. Somehow, _it'll be fine next time,_ seems contrived and hollow. _It's probably because you have a son now,_ seems like a terrible thing to say, even if it is the truth of Jane's situation. So, she shrugs and offers Jane the glass of water she just poured for herself. “Your teacher is probably an idiot. Or jealous of your talent.”

Jane takes the offered water and chugs it down in one gulp. “He's not an idiot,” she groans. “He's incredibly talented. I've read a lot of his stuff.”

Petra rolls her eyes. “So he's jealous then, who cares?”

“I do!”

“Why?”

“He's my advisor,” Jane says, as if it should be obvious. “He _has_ to like me.”

“Why?” she repeats. “Why do you want everyone to like you?”

“I—” Jane sighs, and drops down onto the couch beside Petra. “Don't you want people to like you? I think that's a fairly common trait among most people.”

“I don't care if people like me,” Petra states firmly, only mostly true. It's something she's done quite well with convincing herself over the years, but it falters every so often. And then it becomes a lie.

Jane looks at her with a frown, one hand holding Petra's now empty water glass. “I don't think that's true,” she says softly, reaching out with her free hand and placing it over Petra's own. It _should_ come off as condescending, as if Jane were telling Petra how she feels about herself, but it doesn't. It's just soft, and honest. Her hand is small and warm. Petra feels like all her nerves are gathered in one spot, right there, her whole body tense because Jane's touching her. She pulls herself away and rises from the couch.

“That was my water,” she says, a little accusingly. “I'm getting another one.”

“Okay,” Jane says softly.

Petra can feel Jane's eyes on her back the whole time she's in the kitchen. She drinks her water too fast and chokes. Jane is at her side in an instant. Petra waves her off, still coughing. Jane moves back maybe an inch, respecting Petra's wish for space, but unwilling to actually go any further until she is okay. Petra wants to shake her. Wants her to stop being so accommodating and call her a bitch. Anything, other than soft words and soft touches that make Petra ache for more. Lulling her into a false sense of security when she should be on high alert.

“I'm fine!” Petra snaps, and Jane finally steps back further. Her eyes widen angrily and Petra almost cries in relief.

“I was just trying to help,” Jane says, teeth gritted slightly.

“I don't need it,” Petra says, setting the water glass down in the sink.

“Fine,” Jane shrugs, annoyance wafting off of her.

“Fine,” Petra bites.

“ _Fine,_ ” Jane stalks out of the kitchen. “I'm going to pick up Mateo from Rafael,” she calls over her shoulder.

“Wonderful,” Petra mutters under her breath. The front door slams. Petra clenches the front of the sink and sighs to herself. It’s a sigh of admonishment. Two rounded sounds, exhaled on a breath. _I don't care if people like me._

It's a lie. It has always been a lie.

…

…

Petra successfully avoids Jane as much as she can for two days. Exchanging nothing but _goodnights_ and _see you laters_ and _excuse mes_ as they pass each other in the hall and slip in and out of bed each morning. Xiomara and Alba are both hyper aware of the tension between the two of them, and Xiomara starts glaring at Petra again each time she looks at her. Probably ready to kick her out and deposit her at the nearest firehouse or hospital's doorstep at a moment's notice. Petra almost dares her to do it. Decides that this charade has gone on long enough and she can't _stand_ these women anymore.

Then Ivan shows up at The Marbella for lunch, waving at Petra from across the lobby with a cruel grin on his face. And a bouquet of yellow tulips are delivered to her office, a card that only says: _soon_ accompanying them.

Petra swallows her pride and sends Jane a text message, apologizing and offering to watch Mateo while she does her homework tonight.

Jane's response is so immediate and enthusiastic that Petra finds herself staring at it until her phone shuts itself off. She very nearly unlocks it to read the message again, but there is a knock on her doorframe.

Petra looks up and meets Luisa's eye, she doesn't hold back her surprise. Luisa has come to this office maybe... once? in the last five years. Petra can't remember.

“You got a minute?” she asks.

“Um, sure,” Petra gestures for her to sit down. “What do you need?”

Luisa reaches out and grabs a rubber band off Petra's desk, playing with it and not looking Petra in the eye. She shrugs. “How are you?”

“I—” Petra frowns, “I'm fine.” Luisa snaps the rubber band and says nothing. “How are you?” Petra asks, voice tight.

“I'm pretty good, considering my ex-girlfriend slash step-mother murdered my dad and kidnapped my nephew, and my brother won't talk to me.” The rubber band snaps loudly against the desk. Luisa grabs another one and begins twisting them together. “Plus the whole, lost-my-license-because-I-inseminated-the-wrong-person thing. So I don't have a job. Even though obviously, everything turned out okay,” she waves at Petra's stomach.

“Um...”

“Also, I've been staring at a bottle of vodka for the last day and a half, trying to come up with reasons not to drink it. I didn't come up with very many.”

Petra freezes. “Did you...”

“No,” Luisa says, adding a third rubber band. “I came here instead.”

“Why?” Petra asks. Luisa looks up at her finally. “Why _here?"_ Petra clarifies. They're not... Petra has no unearthly idea why Luisa would seek out _her_ if she thought that she might relapse.

Luisa shrugs, looking unsure for the first time since she walked through the door. She looks very _young_ all of the sudden. Which, Petra decides is a ridiculous thought to have, considering Luisa is nearly seven years older than her. She has never _felt_ older though, and she's _tiny,_ smaller than even Jane. So... perhaps it's not quite so odd. If Petra has observed anything being a part of the Solano family for the last five years, Luisa and Rafael are both stuck in their childhoods. In very different ways, but they're both stuck all the same. Emilio Solano was not an easy man to have for a father. Or father-in-law. Petra avoided him at all costs.

She avoided Luisa too. Skipped out on family dinners, and cancelled arrangements for coffee at the last minute. Petra only stayed at Luisa's wedding to Allison for approximately five minutes. Enough to pose for a photograph and apologize for having to leave.

She was a terrible sister-in-law.

Luisa sets her rubber band concoction down on top of the desk. “I'm not really sure,” she says quietly. “I guess... well, I couldn't think of anyone else,” she scoots forward in the chair, preparing to leave. “It was stupid. I'll get out of your hair.”

Petra watches her rise and move towards the door. She’s thinking, _I’m sorry,_ but she can’t say the words out loud. They stick in her throat because she should have said them years ago. _I'm sorry, I don't want a sister. I'm sorry, I don't know how to be a sister._ Wouldn't even know where to start if she did. Regardless, it's too late now. Now that Petra is divorced and re-married. Now, that they're not anything.

 _I'm sorry, I didn't know that's what you wanted._ Petra is beginning to realize that she doesn’t know Luisa at all. Or rather, she knew part of her and assumed that it was all of her.

“Wait,” Petra calls out. Suddenly, the fact that Luisa chose to come to her _means something._ Petra doesn't know what. She feels idiotic, like her mother pulling out her tarot cards and prattling on about signs. She's not stupid. They're not _family._ Not really, not anymore. They never really were. And they're not friends. They're just two women, rejected by the same man and licking their wounds together. Misery loves company. Petra tells herself that's all it is as Luisa turns around. Keeping her from relapsing is just saving everyone from a headache. But Luisa smiles, a hopeful look on her face that actually _hurts_ something inside of Petra and she knows that she is lying to herself. “Put your former job skills to good use,” she produces a sheet of paper and a pen. “Tell me what I'm allowed to eat and what I'm not. Everything makes me nauseous.”

“Okay,” Luisa _beams_ and sits back down, taking the pen from Petra's hand and scribbling away. A silence falls between them as Luisa writes and Petra turns back to her computer.

“What can I eat right now?” she asks.

Luisa looks up, “Hum?”

“I'm hungry. Are you? Scott should be here to get my lunch order any minute.”

“You want me to have lunch with you?” Luisa asks, a huge grin on her face. Petra rolls her eyes, Luisa's every emotion is nearly blasted out to the universe with a megaphone. There's a reason she's never won a poker game in her entire life, a fact Rafael used to dole out fondly.

“Are you hungry or not?” Petra snaps, because, no matter what is happening right now, she's not about to become _nice_ just because Luisa has decided to strike up a friendship instead of relapsing.

“I could eat,” Luisa says, attempting to be casual. Petra rolls her eyes, and buzzes Scott in to take their orders.

Before she knows it, hours have gone by and Luisa hasn't left. She's actually been helping Petra get her work done. And she's only annoyed Petra four times. It's the longest amount of time Petra has ever spent with Luisa, and she doesn't hate it.

Her phone dings with a new message only seconds before Rafael appears in her door, poised to knock and frowning in confusion at the sight of his sister in Petra's office. Her bare feet up on a chair in front of her, poking at the computer screen, telling Petra that the blue napkins look better with the ivory than the gold, because they look like school colors, not something you get married in.

“Um,” he freezes, looking back and forth between them both. “Did Jane text you?”

Petra glances down at her phone. “Yes, just now. Why?”

He stares at his sister. Luisa drops her legs to the floor and straightens. “Why is she in here?” he asks.

“What does Jane want?” Petra asks instead of answering his question. Rafael takes a moment too long to respond, so Petra unlocks her phone to see for herself. The movement in Rafael's peripheral vision must shake him out of the stare down between his sister, because he answers as Petra reads the four frantic texts.

“She's running behind at school, something about her advisor being an ass. She wondered if you could bring Mateo to her house on your way there.”

The _bring Mateo home with you_ hangs in the air unsaid. Rafael has refused to refer to Jane's house as Petra's home for the last three and a half weeks. Petra has refused the same of herself, but it grates at her when Rafael does it.

Because she can only seem to spend so many minutes out of her day feigning niceties, Petra straightens and looks at him coolly. “Sure, I can bring him home with me. I'm going there anyway,” she shrugs. Rafael stiffens. Petra shuts her computer down and throws the remains of her long since cold lunch into the trash. “Thank you for your help today Luisa,” she says, because it will bother Rafael, and because she means it.

“No problem,” Luisa rises and shoves her shoes back on. “It was fun.”

Petra doesn't smile at her, but the muscles in her face must relax in a way that causes Luisa to beam back at her anyhow. “I'll talk to you later,” she offers, hoping that the _don't drink a bottle of vodka when I leave_ is implied. Luisa nods like maybe it is, and Petra exhales a small sigh of relief before holding her hand out for the baby carrier. Rafael passes it to her reluctantly. “I just fed him half an hour ago,” he says. “Diaper change too.”

Petra nods and readjusts her hold on it, refusing to show any discomfort with it in front of Rafael. Though it's awkward and heavy. “Alright,” she steps to the side, unable to pass through the doorframe with Mateo unless Rafael moves out of the way. “Have a good night,” she offers politely.

“Yeah,” he says, giving his sister one more look, then letting Petra pass through before stalking away from her office.

Petra glances down at the sleeping baby, readjusts her grip again, and makes her way out of The Marbella to hail a taxi. Milos hasn't taken her shares away, hasn't even threatened it. Three days after Petra married Jane and Milos left Miami, Petra made sure that all the accounts were in her name. Milos had already given her control over them, legally, they were hers now. (Sort of.) Even if he does manage to come back and make her life hell, he can't take them back from her now without involving a lot of lawyers and attention he probably doesn't want to draw upon himself.

That isn't to say that Petra isn't worried about what he'll do. She just knows that no matter what he _does_ do, she'll have some money at her disposal. 

Mateo begins to gurgle awake when they're halfway home. Petra shakes the Lovey in his face. It's some ridiculous looking thing that all the parents in Jane's Mommy and Me class were raving about. It _does_ seem to calm him down, so, whatever works.

By the time that they reach Jane's house, Mateo is wide awake, happily clutching the Lovey in his hands. Petra passes the cab driver the fare and climbs out.

“Cute kid you got there,” he calls.

“Oh,” Petra looks down at Mateo, “he's not—thanks,” she says as he pulls away with a wave.

Petra goes to push open the front door, but it's locked. She curses and sets the baby carrier down to dig through her purse for the key that Jane gave her the first week she moved in. She's never had to use it before. As she pulls it out, Petra realizes that she's never been alone in the Villanueva house before. Never been entrusted with Mateo. Not for more than a few minutes while everyone else's hands were busy.

The moment feels like it should be larger. Petra unlocks the door and lugs Mateo inside. It takes her a few minutes to figure out how to unclip him from the contraption. Thankfully, he waits for her patiently while Petra curses under her breath at each clip and buckle.

When she's finally got him free, she doesn't know what to do next. Rafael already fed and changed him. He's three months old, there's not much else to do. Petra thinks that maybe she should have just left him in the carrier with the Lovey, because he seemed perfectly content a moment ago, but now seems to have clued in to the fact that there is no one competent around to take care of him. His face scrunches into what Petra knows is sure to be a wail and she quickly bounces lightly on the balls of her feet.

“Do not start crying,” she orders, her voice low and firm. She hates people who coo at babies with high pitched voices. Jane and Rafael both to do it to a certain degree, and it just makes Petra feel sorry for Mateo. “There is nothing wrong with you,” Petra assures the baby. “You're fed, you're clean, you're home. Relax.”

Mateo looks up at her. It's unnerving. Babies study faces so intently, too intently for Petra's liking. The thought of being afraid of what a _three month old baby_ could possibly be thinking about her is _absurd,_ so, Petra stares back. Sitting down on the couch, and resting him on her legs like she's seen Jane do, Petra just... looks at him.

She wonders after a moment who he thinks that she is. “I'm Petra,” she says, as if that means anything to him. He kicks his legs out a little. Petra lightly grabs hold of them. He kicks some more, smiling up at her. His new trick.

The first time he smiled, Jane actually fell over. Thank god she wasn't holding him. Mateo had been lying down on the middle of her bed, pillows strategically placed on one side and Petra sitting up on the other, working on her laptop while Jane worked at her desk. Jane had turned around to ask Petra a question about her schedule the next day, and squealed. Petra had looked up just in time to see Jane try to leap out of her chair, only to trip over her own feet and smack down hard onto the floor.

“Jane!” Petra had yelled, hearing footsteps come racing down the hall.

“DID YOU SEE IT?” Jane screamed from the floor. Xiomara and Alba burst into the bedroom. “HE SMILED AT ME!” Jane struggled to get up, Xiomara jumping forward to help. “HE SMILED!” Jane yelled, limping towards the bed.

Petra looked down at the baby and frowned. “I didn't see it.”

“Mateo,” Jane cooed, “Oh my god, he's doing it again!” she pointed, and all four women looked down at the baby. Xiomara and Alba both gasped and started cooing at him along with Jane.

“Holy shit,” Petra whispered in awe. “He did.”

Jane looked up at her, beaming, not noticing the cut lightly bleeding on her shin. “Told you,” she said, latching onto Petra's forearm and shaking it a little. “Oh my god, my leg _hurts._ ”

Petra rolled her eyes and went off in search of some rubbing alcohol and a band aid.

Now, she smiles back at Mateo lightly. “My name was Natalia when I was your age,” she says, not sure as to why. “But it's not anymore. I've had a lot of names, though probably not more than you've got. Mateo Gloriano Rogelio Solano Villanueva, I mean...” Petra rolls her eyes. “It's a damn mouthful.” Mateo kicks his legs out, the right stronger than the left. “I doubt I have you beat. Let's see: Natalia Kovář, then Petra Andel. _A_ _lmost_ Petra Moore, but instead, Petra Solano. And now, _a_ _lmost_ Petra Dvoracek, but instead Petra Villanueva,” she looks down at Mateo and frowns as he drools out a spit bubble. “I keep forgetting that,” she informs him. “I introduced myself to two different clients as Petra Solano last week.” Mateo has no response to this. Petra releases his legs. “So, that's five names for you, six if you count Matelio. And that's,” Petra smiles, “six for me. It's a tie I suppose. Or actually, I win. Because we didn't count my nicknames.”

Petra toes off her heels and leans back against the couch. Mateo seems content enough where he is, Petra holds the Lovey up and looks at it. It's ugly. Mateo reaches for it anyway.

“Here, knock yourself out.” Petra watches him shake it for a moment, then he stops, and looks for her again. Unable to reach his head up to see her. Petra sticks her hand into his line of view and wiggles her fingers. “Still here,” she assures him.

Mateo seems content with this until Petra quiets again. She sighs, she can either hover over him, or she can talk. Petra decides that she is too comfortable to move.

“It's weird that we have the same name,” she ponders. “Two of the same names. Well, not anymore.” Petra swallows as she looks at him. “Technically, I guess I'm your step-mother. For now anyway,” she corrects. The stowaway in her uterus pops into Petra's mind without her consent. She refuses to think of it as anything else for now. It—she can't get attached to the idea. Not like last time. It's not going to be a real thing unless she actually gives birth to it alive and holds it in her arms. Until then, it doesn't get to have a gender, or a name, or to be thought of as anything else other than The Stowaway.

“Wonder where your real mom is,” Petra mumbles to Mateo. “Or anyone.” It's nearly six, usually, all three Villanueva women are usually home by now. Petra chances moving Mateo. She sits up and shifts him into her arms without any protests or cries and heads into the kitchen.

Magda never taught Petra how to cook. Petra was raised on cheep sandwiches, soup and crackers, bruised fruit, and anything that could be heated up from a can. She didn't know what spinach was until she was seventeen. Kale wasn't introduced to her until she was twenty-four. She's still never had a kiwi.

Regardless, Petra digs around in the cupboards until she finds a can of lentil soup. She dumps it in a pan and heats it up, bouncing Mateo lightly with one hand and stirring with the other. When it becomes apparent that she'll need more than one hand to scrounge up something else, she settles him into his high chair. He fusses, unhappy with the arrangement.

“Just hold on a second,” Petra tells him. She manages to make a semi decent toss salad with the ingredients in the refrigerator. Talking to Mateo incessantly the whole time to keep his light fussing from escalating into full blown cries. Just when he's really about to blow, Petra drops a baguette and some butter in the middle of the table and picks him back up.

“God you are impatient,” she rocks him gently. “What was wrong with sitting there for five minutes? How could that have bothered you?”

“Because babies crave contact,” Jane's voice says from behind her. Petra jumps out of her skin, turning around quickly. Jane is standing frozen beside the kitchen table, her expression very strange when she looks up and catches Petra's eye. She opens her mouth, as if to ask a question, and seems to think better of it.

“What?” Petra asks, it comes out in a croak.

“Nothing,” Jane says, looking back and forth between Petra, holding Mateo, and the kitchen table. “You... made dinner?”

Petra shrugs. “Not really,” she says, uncomfortable and awkward. She suddenly wants Mateo out of her arms, but doesn't want to step any closer to Jane to give him to her.

Jane makes no move to take him, one hand is gripped around the back of a chair, and the other clutching her purse strap tightly. The air is heavy with the late afternoon heat, deep as still water, and the light from the setting sun is impossible to escape. Petra's skin itches.

“Thank you,” Jane finally says. “For watching him,” she steps forward, setting her purse down on one of the chairs and holding her arms out to take Mateo. “And for cooking,” she adds. Their fingers brush as they switch Mateo into Jane's arms.

“Sure,” Petra shrugs, wrapping her now empty arms around herself. “I mean, it's not comparable to marriage and room and board,” she tries to joke, her voice coming out raw. Petra clears her throat and straightens up her spine. “I know that I've been a bitch, but I _am_ grateful.”

“I know Petra,” Jane says, tired. “You don't... I mean, _thank you_ for this, but you don't...” Jane sighs in frustration, nearly a growl. Petra looks up, shocked at the emotion. “If you're doing this in some sick, 'earn your keep' way, then _don't._ That's not—no one is going to kick you out if you act like yourself.”

Petra snorts. “Your mom will actually. She thinks you can drop a pregnant woman off at firehouses with safe haven laws.”

Jane actually might let out a growl now. Everything about her goes tight and she raises herself up to her tallest height. Which, isn't much. “She's not going to do that,” Jane says, serious and exasperated. “I don't know how else to say it Petra. Yes, it's still a little weird having you here. Yes, we're still figuring it out. But this is your home now. No one is kicking you out.”

“Jane, you don't have to—”

“Petra!” Jane snaps. “You're our family now, and I want you here. _Please_ stop telling me how grateful you are, or apologizing for acting like yourself. Who, I _know_ isn't always a nice person. I knew that when I proposed. I knew that when I agreed to do this. Every time you tell me you're grateful, I kind of want to hit you,” she admits.

Petra's mouth definitely drops open in shock. She clamps it shut as soon as she catches it. “Excuse me?” she asks coolly.

“I just, I feel like we're stuck in this cycle of tip toeing around each other. Or snapping at each other, then avoiding each other. And then apologizing and bringing up all the weirdness again. We've just... we've got to move past it,” she says with determination. “Stop dwelling on it. You're here. You're staying. We're not gonna get along all the time, and that's fine,” she shrugs.

Petra narrows her eyes as Jane lets out a breath. “Fine,” she agrees after a moment. 

“Great,” Jane's whole body sags in relief. “Though, to be clear, being nice is always going to be preferable,” she adds as she settles Mateo in her arms to nurse.

Petra rolls her eyes and sits down opposite her. “Of course,” she says sarcastically. Jane laughs, loud and bright, and something unravels in Petra’s chest, something that’s been clenched tight since the moment Jane entered the room.


	4. moments in the woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one has taken so long, real life has been busy, and a little stressful (i'm trying to get a new job! and i quit/turned down my old one after a lot of crying and deliberating) and it's been hard to get motivated to sit down and write this particular chapter. i'm _kind of_ doing the time jump thing they did in the show, but not quite. 
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Petra wakes to a warm arm holding her loosely.

Her eyes only open a fraction, adjusting to the sunlight that's pouring through the curtains. She shifts just a little, and the sensation against her cheek isn't the slightly scratchy cotton of Jane's pillowcases that she has grown accustomed to. It's much softer, and far too warm to be anything other than someone's stomach.She opens her eyes fully, to discover herself curled on top of Jane. Petra's hair has fallen into her eyes, and their bare legs are tangled together, the slight stubble on Jane's legs rubbing against Petra's as she goes rigid and freezes with realization.

“Morning,” Jane calmly hums to her from above. The arm that is slung across Petra tightens in a squeeze of greeting, but otherwise, Jane makes no movement whatsoever. Doesn't shove Petra off of her, or seem bothered by her presence in the slightest.

Petra snaps to attention. She pulls herself out of Jane's arms so quickly that she slams her elbow into the wall. She yelps in pain and nearly collides with Jane's head when she leans towards Petra. “I'm sorry,” she groans, holding the throbbing elbow and wincing.

“It's fine,” Jane says, confusion and worry all over her face. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Petra grits out. She is _not_. Her elbow throbs again painfully. “I'm sorry,” she waves towards Jane's side of the bed with her other arm.

Jane laughs and Mateo stirs from his crib. “It's fine,” she shrugs. “I didn't want to wake you.” Petra watches as Jane pushes aside the covers and lifts Mateo up, bouncing gently from side to side as she turns back to face Petra. “I know he was relentless last night,” she kisses his face as his eyes open.

Mateo scrunches up his nose, still half asleep and annoyed by it. Petra doesn't blame him. She wishes that she were still blissfully asleep, instead of awake and horribly embarrassed.

And in pain.

“Well,” Petra swallows, “you could have just woken me. Or shoved me off.” Each word feels like it's being pulled from her throat by force.

Jane looks up at her and frowns. The sunlight catches her dark hair and illuminates her, like she's glowing from within. She shrugs as Mateo begins to truly wake, fussing and demanding to be fed. “Well, if I'd had to pee, or if he'd woken up, I would have,” she grins. “But you looked comfortable.”

Petra sucks in a breath and rubs her elbow. The pain has dulled somewhat. She watches Jane sit down in the rocking chair and begin nursing Mateo. Her first instinct is to leave, to thank Jane for allowing her this intrusion, and to stumble out of the room, never to speak of it again. Petra throws the covers off and tries to make a dash for the bathroom.

“Can you hand me his napkin?” Jane asks, halting her progress.

Petra grabs the cloth napkin and all but throws it at Jane in her haste to get out of the room. She doesn't know how to _do this_. Each time Jane, or one of the Villanueva women touches her, she nearly jumps out of her skin. The three of them (and Rogelio) touch each other constantly. Hugs and kisses, hands brushing on shoulders or lower backs as they pass by. Petra watches and hangs back, envious of their easy affection. It is absolutely foreign to her. Apart from a handshake, or an air kiss, Petra can go weeks without touching another human being. Months even. Unless she's sleeping with someone, unless it's deliberate and sexual, Petra flounders with human contact. The ease with which the Villanueva women simply live in each other's space still baffles Petra after nearly a month and a half of shared living.

Petra hasn't woken up cuddled in someone else's embrace before in her entire life. Not unless she's had sex with them first. She can remember maybe three occasions in five years of being married to Rafael where that happened. Even then, subconsciously perhaps, Petra always tends to stick to her own side of the bed.

That appears to have gone out the window entirely, and Petra doesn't know what to make of it.

So, she chooses to ignore it.

She tries not to flinch as Alba's hand rests on her forearm for a moment, forcing herself to listen intently instead, trying to translate the Spanish. Or when Rogelio bursts through the door with news of his new _Mad Men_ inspired telenovela, and wraps her up in a tight, excited hug that goes on _far_ longer than Petra is comfortable with. (She's not _comfortable_ with any of it. But she's grown to at least expect his excited hugs as he boasts about his Twitter followers donating to lesbian charities in her name. Or keeping an eye out for men with bouquets of yellow tulips. Or just saying hello to his fake daughter-in-law.) She tries not to have any contact at all between herself and Xiomara or Mateo. But it happens anyway. The house is small. Xiomara's shoulder brushes against Petra's own as they switch in and out of the small bathroom. Mateo gets passed into Petra's arms when all the other six hands are full or busy.

And _Jane_ —

Jane touches Petra _constantly_. Fingers brushing against each other as she passes food to Petra—or takes it away. (The sushi Petra had literally been seconds away from taking a bite out of, yanked out of her hands and thrown into the trash in one swift movement. _That's raw fish! It's like number one on Luisa's list. And mine. And every Do Not Eat If You_ _'_ _r_ _e_ _Pregnant list ever created!)_ Hands resting on Petra's shoulders or lower back as they move around each other in the kitchen or the bathroom. Knees knocking together as they shift around in Jane's bed. Elbows jutting into stomachs and thighs. Hair tickling faces. And hands—hands light and gentle. Too close and not enough. Everything innocent and easily given.

It's so far beyond Petra's purview that she constantly feels like she's taking part in a performance, but nobody bothered to hand her a costume or teach her any of her lines.

…

…

There are things you inevitably learn about someone while living in the same house, sharing the same bedroom day in and day out.

For instance, Petra knows what Jane looks like when she first wakes up, in ratty old t-shirts and small cotton shorts, rubbing sleep from her eyes, her hair matted and sticking out. She knows the kind of coffee Jane likes in the morning (no sugar, a dash of cream), her favorite cereal (peanut butter cap'n crunch—disgusting), which sweatshirt she reaches for when she's cold (a worn out black hoodie that used to be Michael's), her favorite snack other than grilled cheese (corn chips with a mild green salsa), what her face looks like when she's annoyed but trying not to show it (pinched, as unsubtle as the rest of her), how well her writing is going depending on how hard she hits the keys (the harder she types, the more she's frustrated), how competitive she gets playing Jeopardy ( _insanely_ —her secret shame), that sound she makes at the back of his throat when she's reading a particularly erotic story. Petra knows it all and more.

And she knows that part of Jane's whole martyr act is overcompensation. A desperate need to control as much of her life as possible. Not all of it, because Jane actually _is_ that much of a Nice Person. But some of it. An apology to the universe, or something. _Sorry_ _I can be a judgmental know-it-all, I'll marry someone I once hated to make up for it_. It's got to be exhausting.

Jane insists on doing every little thing herself. When Rafael mentions a babysitter _on_ _e time_ Jane nearly short circuits at the very idea.

When Jane finds out about Mateo's prospective trust fund—she nearly implodes.

“I can't... I mean it's just...” Jane paces back and forth in front of the couch where Petra sits, _trying_ to answer an email about an upcoming swing dancing venue at The Marbella. She has already heard Jane rant about this to her mother and her grandmother, together—and separately _._ More than once. “How can he just be so _casual_ about this?” Jane snaps.

“Because to him, it's not a big deal,” Petra answers with a frown. The swing dancers suggest that the ballroom be cleaned with some special soap to help prevent scuff marks on the floor. Petra rolls her eyes and makes a note of it.

“How can it _not_ be a big deal?” Jane gasps, as dramatically as Petra has ever seen her. Which is saying something.

She looks up from her laptop. “His father was rich. His mother is rich. Money has never been an issue for him. Why _would_ it be a big deal? He got a trust fund, Luisa got one,” Petra shrugs. “Hell, I essentially had one. It's par for the course in their family.”

“I don't want it to be par for the course to Mateo. It's a lot of money. It _should_ be a big deal. I...” she sighs, “I don't want Mateo to grow up thinking that he can just throw money at any problem and make it go away. I don't want him to think that thousands of dollars are just something to scoff at.”

“He won't,” Petra tells her. Jane snorts and keeps on pacing. Petra rolls her eyes and sets the laptop down on the magazine table.

“Are you gonna let Rafael give yours a trust fund?” Jane asks, waving towards Petra's stomach. She freezes, because despite the fact that her pregnancy is mentioned a lot by all three Villanueva women, the actual _baby_ that it will become isn't.

“Of course,” Petra pushes her hair out of her face. Swallowing and bunching her fingers into fists so that they don't instinctually rest on her stomach. There is a definite bulge growing now. Unavoidable and impossible to ignore. “I grew up poor Jane,” Petra reminds her. “Poorer than you.” Jane makes a face at her and Petra inhales more sharply than she intends. “It's true. I'm not saying it to compare pain, or to one up you. It's just a fact. I grew up during the fall of the Soviet Union, the entire country was desolate. I... if I have even the _slightest_ chance of preventing my child from ever feeling like that, I'll take it. There are quite a few reasons why I was willing to marry Milos. Why I enjoyed being married to Rafael. Money was one of them. I'm not ashamed of that.”

“Petra, I—”

“This isn't a cry for pity Jane,” Petra snaps. “I don't want it or need it.”

Jane's face softens. “I wasn't pitying you,” she promises. “I just forgot, that you probably know where I'm coming from. Of course I don't want to make Mateo's life hard. I want him to have everything! But I don't want him to be unable to appreciate it. Rafael... he just _can't_ in the same way that you or I could. Everything we ever talk about getting for Mateo, he just... pulls out his credit card like it's nothing. I don't want that.”

“Have you told him this?”

“Yes! But he doesn't get it. He thinks I'm being crazy. I mean, eighteen year old boys are _idiots._ I can't imagine letting Mateo have his hands on millions of dollars and not doing something stupid with it.”

“So, make stipulations. If it's one thing you're great at, it's rules,” Petra tells her sarcastically. Jane brightens anyway. “Mateo won't be spoiled Jane,” Petra says gently. “ _You're_ his mother, the fact that you're thinking about it so much proves you won't let it happen.”

Jane tilts her head and stares at Petra, a smile creeping up in the corners of her lips. “Thank you Petra.”

Petra shrugs, suddenly uncomfortable. “Whatever, I'm sick of you going on and on about it. There's an obvious solution. Just make up some rules and trust your own judgement.”

Jane doesn't stop smiling at her. In fact, her grin widens. Petra feels her stomach flip, in such a way that has nothing whatsoever to do with the child growing inside of it.

…

…

The thing she misses most, she decides after two months in the Villanueva home, is space.

Not the silk sheets of her large, comfortable bed. Nor the quiet of her suite after a trying day full of idiotic guests and clients. It's not even that there isn't any room in the house, because it _is_ small and to stuff four grown women and a baby inside can become a little trying at times. It's not space exactly, so much as _her own space._

Her room isn't her room, it's _Jane's_ room. Her things are still half in bags and tucked into designated sections of the closet and dresser. The living room is full of possessions belonging to every member of the household except for Petra. The kitchen has memories to which Petra is not included: the indent of a knife on the counter from when Jane was eight and learning to cook, a scuff mark on the floor that Alba tried for _days_ to get rid of six years ago. Mismatched mugs and plates, each with their own story.

An entire life that Petra was not a part of. Still isn't, not really.

Jane offers, more than once, space for Petra's things. Telling her it's _fine_ if she has papers strewn out on the magazine table. A jacket hanging in the hallway closet. A mug she accidentally brought home from The Marbella. She can have more. It's her home now.

Petra has nothing else to fill it with. She never did. She owns expensive clothes and nothing else. She never had the money for trinkets, or books, or posters before, and once she did, buying them seemed silly. She lived in a hotel suite the last six years of her life. It wasn't apparent that she was lacking in anything until she moved into the Villanueva home.

Her suite, though it was nearly identical to a few hundred others within the hotel, felt like _hers._

No matter how many times Jane says it, or how much Alba and Xiomara soften around her, Petra doesn't feel the right to this space. Two months in, Jane comes home from class and automatically hugs Petra after hugging her mother. Presses a book into her hands and says she saw it and thought that Petra might like it, what's for dinner?

Three nights later and Alba drapes a scarf around Petra's neck as she's about to leave for work. Insisting upon it when Petra tries to tell her that she's fine without it. There is a chill to the air, and it suits Petra better than it ever suited Alba anyhow.

Xiomara folding clothes on the dinning room table, Petra's pile resting besides Jane's. Holding up a shirt and whistling, “Can I borrow this?” before depositing it into her own pile without waiting for a response. Jane snorting behind her, warning Petra that she may never see that shirt again. Xiomara gasping, “Will _too,”_ before swatting Jane with a towel.

Two months in, and the space doesn't feel like hers at all, but stunningly, Petra finds that she _wants_ it to.

She should know by now not to let herself want.

…

…

Lina isn't at the Villanueva house often, but when she is, she spends half her time talking about the latest date she's gone on, or who's being annoying at The Marbella, and the other half of the time glaring at Petra like she's got no right to infringe upon her friendship with Jane.

“So,” she drawls slowly as Jane steps into the kitchen, out of hearing range. “Do you think you're like, gonna be here much longer?” She won't look Petra in the eye, and she fidgets with the throw pillow in her hands. “Because, I know that you guys are kind of, friends now or whatever, but Jane is _my_ best friend,” she looks up then, clearly trying not to show how uncomfortable she still is around Petra. Technically, Petra's her boss. And her best friend's wife. And her best friend's new sort of friend. Petra can understand her awkwardness. Can see this statement for what it is: marking her territory. There's no real malice behind Lina's words, just a woman afraid of losing her friend more than she already has. With Mateo, and grad school, and not working at The Marbella anymore, Jane and Lina hardly ever see each other.

Petra wants to say something ugly anyway. Something like, _if she wanted to_ _be_ _spend_ _ing_ _more time with you, then she would be._ Or something uglier about how well they're getting along now, and how much _happier_ Jane is these days, even though she's busy. Something cruel about the small—but delicious—cake that Jane stayed up late making to celebrate the end of her first trimester. And, didn't she forget your twenty-fifth birthday? Did she bake _you_ a cake recently?

She bites her tongue then, swallows down the ugliness. The blood on her lip tastes real enough. Lina's eyes flick down to it.

“Jane and I aren't friends,” she says in a low voice. Jane's not listening in, but the thought of her hearing all the same makes Petra's chest hurt. “Not like the two of you are.”

Lina relaxes, smirking a little and flipping her hair out of her face. “Well, duh. We've known each other since fifth grade.” Her voice goes loud and excited, and she turns on the couch, calling into the kitchen. “Oh my god! Jane! Remember Mrs Thompson?”

Jane and Lina both squeal and mimic the old lady's face, sharing inside jokes while Petra sits on the couch and tries not to feel out of place in what everyone keeps on insisting is _her home now._

…

…

Petra slips out of the bed and tip toes over to Mateo's crib. Jane hasn't gotten hardly any sleep in the last two nights, staying up past three a.m. to work on a large paper. And Mateo has been fussier than usual. Petra lifts him into her arms and slips out of the bedroom before his cries wake Jane. She pads into the kitchen and pulls out one of the bottles Jane had pumped earlier that morning out of the refrigerator. Mateo whines as it heats up in the microwave.

“Don't be so impatient,” Petra tells him in a whisper. “It's coming.” She squirts a little onto her forearm, testing the heat like she's seen Jane and Alba do, then takes Mateo out into the living room. Lying down on the couch, she stuffs the bottle into his greedy little mouth.

Petra yawns as he feds. Closing her eyes and resting her head back against the couch.

“What are you doing?” a voice whispers a few minutes later.

Petra jerks and sits up a little to find Xiomara hovering above her, a strange expression on her face.

“I'm... Jane only just fell asleep a little bit ago,” Petra shrugs. “Her paper is due tomorrow. And I can go into work whenever I want.”

Xiomara stares down at her and Petra shifts, sure that she's done something wrong. Accidentally poisoned the baby somehow. Mateo gurgles happily as he finishes the bottle.

“Don't forget to burp him,” Xiomara says, holding her hand out for the empty bottle.

“I won't,” Petra promises.

Xiomara gives her one last odd look before setting the bottle in the sink, and heading back towards her bedroom. “Get some sleep yourself,” she whispers gently.

…

…

There's blood in her underwear and Petra stops breathing. Remembers that spotting is normal, and this doesn't mean it's like the last time. Doesn't mean that she killed it—again. Her womb isn't toxic. Something can live inside of her for nine months and not want to revolt or kill itself to get away from her.

It's normal.

Petra breathes. She's still panicking anyhow, as much as she had the last time. _Far too much blood, and pain, and crying. And Rafael clutching her hand, the tightest he ever held her. And_ _women's voices cooing,_ _'it's gonna be okay', 'don't worry honey, it's gonna be okay'—_

Petra breathes. Those stupid deep ones that Luisa taught her. Yoga breaths. Her throat feels like it's on fire. She thinks that's right.

She rises and goes into her office bathroom. Pulls her underwear off and drops it into the sink. Turns the water as cold as it will go and squirts some soap in to soak. They're probably ruined. She'll end up throwing them away, she knows she will, but she soaks them all the same. Habit. She never used to have the luxury of discarding her clothes at the smallest stain.

Petra has perfected the art of getting bloodstains off of underpants, bedsheets, and hands. When they read Macbeth in tenth grade, Petra had laughed and thought that every girl in the room had a kinship with Lady Macbeth. Blood is a constant on girls hands. It never washes off.

Something she and Magda agree on. The day that Petra came out of their dinky little bathroom, shaking and holding her bloody underwear in her palm, crying, “Mama, I'm dying!” Magda had only laughed, low and cruel.

“Welcome to womanhood Natalia,” she grabbed the underwear and ran cold water over it. Petra only had four pairs, couldn't afford to be bothered by stains. “It's all downhill from here.”

Petra still hadn't known what was going on till a few months later, when Jana Undinova explained it all to her in a hushed whisper, the two of them huddled up in a bathroom stall.

Petra turns the water off. There is no reason to keep this pair of underwear. She sighs and rings it out before throwing it in the trash can.

She's fine _._ This is normal and _everything is fine._

She pulls out a new pair of underpants from the bag of clothes she's still got stashed in her office. Thankful for her paranoia today. She hasn't worn a pad in years, it feels like a diaper.

She's _fine._

She calls Luisa anyway.

It only takes a few minutes for Luisa to get down from her suite to Petra's office. She must hear the panic in Petra's voice, even though all she says is, “Come get food with me.” Hanging up before Luisa can say yes or no.

Luisa sets places a mug of green tea in front of Petra. (A habit she's picked up from Jane.) “What's wrong?”

“Nothing, I'm hungry,” Petra snaps. Luisa frowns at her and waits, hovering above Petra. She takes a sip of the tea and ignores Luisa. “Did you put any honey in this?”

“You wouldn't drink it if I hadn't,” Luisa finally sits down. “Petra, what's—”

“Nothing,” Petra snaps again. “I overreacted. Are we eating or not?”

Luisa hesitates, studying Petra for a moment before nodding. “Sure, I could eat.”

Petra smacks the button to get Scott's attention. (She'd demoted him back to her assistant once Rafael knew that she was pregnant.) Luisa scoots her chair closer to Petra's, no longer prying. Petra never thought that Luisa's presence would have a calming affect on her, but it does. She relaxes into her seat as Luisa starts telling her about the hot new detective assigned to the Sin Rostro case.

Petra breathes. She's fine.

…

…

Petra yawns as her phone offers her the option to _practice her weak skills._

Un niño. _A boy_. Él come. _He eats_. Una niña. _A girl_. Es agua. _It is water_. Toma agua. _You drink water_. Usted. _You_. Ella come. _She eats_.

 _You strengthened the skill Basics 1!_ Her phone applauds her.

Petra hits continue, barely taking note of Jane entering the room and climbing into bed. When the app asks her a question out loud, Jane's head whips around and looks at Petra.

“Are you learning Spanish?” she asks, something like awe in her voice.

Petra's fingers freeze, the app repeating it's question. “I'm sick of not understanding anything your grandmother says. Don't make a whole big thing about it,” she snaps, closing out of the app and setting her phone on the nightstand.

Jane continues watching her as she slinks down into the covers, desperately wishing she had closed out of the app before Jane came into the room. She downloaded it on a whim two days ago, after sitting through breakfast alone with Alba. Petra had been sick of only understanding about five words of conversation. Now she just feels stupid.

“I'm not,” Jane says quietly. Reaching up and turning off the light, she slides down beside Petra. “I can help you practice if you want though,” she offers.

A silence drapes over them both. Jane shifts around, getting comfortable while Petra remains straight as a board.

“Maybe,” Petra finally whispers.

“Alright,” Jane whispers back. Petra can hear the smile in her voice. She rolls her eyes and gets comfortable herself. There is no way that she is going to take Jane up on her offer. Not a chance in hell. Petra would embarrass herself in five seconds. “Buenas noches Petra,” Jane adds.

Petra sighs. “Duerma bien.”

She knows, without rolling over to look, that Jane has a shit eating grin on her face.

…

…

Mateo won't stop screaming.

Jane, finally picks him up and walks over to the neighbors front door. Petra can imagine her politely asking them to turn the music down. It's as ineffective as she imagined it would be when Jane comes huffing back home, ranting that the new neighbors are _so rude._

The music actually gets louder. Jane looks nearly delirious as she shuffles off to school the next morning.

When she comes running through the front door two days later, trying to hide a bulky amp she gleefully stole off of their porch, Petra has to bite down on her lip hard to keep herself from breaking out into a grin.

The boastful happy dance is stalled when the police arrive.

Jane shrinks under the presence of authority, immediately remorseful and full of shame. Her pathetic apologizing grates on Petra, and she pushes herself in front of Jane, snapping at the officer until he nearly trips off of the porch in an effort to get away from her.

“Officer, I promise it won't happen again,” Jane says, grabbing Petra's bicep and trying to tug her back into the house.

“You could do something about the noise complaints,” Petra says. “It _is_ your job.”

“Ma'am your wife stole—” he begins.

“Borrowed,” Petra snarls. “In an effort to show a few wanna-be punk rockers the error of their ways.”

The officer sighs very loudly.

“And honestly, the fact that they sent you here like this, feels a little bit like a hate crime to me,” Petra adds, willing to milk that for all it's worth. The officer's back snaps to attention, and he looks like he might cry. This might be his very first day with how he's acting.

“I can assure you Ma'am, that's not why I—”

“We are so sorry,” Jane repeats for the umpteenth time. She manages to get her arms fully around Petra's waist, and shoves her inside. “I promise I won't do it again. Have a wonderful day!” she closes the door before Petra can say anything else.

“I can't believe he actually thought that he was going to arrest you,” Petra rolls her eyes and heads into the kitchen.

“I _stole_ from them,” Jane says. “I can't believe I did that? What the hell was I thinking?”

“That they're assholes and you wanted your baby to get some sleep.” Petra grimaces at the fish that Alba has left out on the counter to thaw for dinner tonight. Her nausea is mostly gone, but once in a while, it rears its ugly head.

Jane directs Petra into a chair and grabs the kettle, filling it with water and turning the flame on as high as it will go. As she pulls out two mugs and some tea bags, she frowns at herself. “I still can't believe I stole their amp. Rafael was so confused. We actually ran away like a bunch of teenagers TP-ing a house.”

Petra's eyebrows narrow. “What?”

“Hum?” Jane pours the hot water into each mug and sets one down in front of Petra. Green tea. Apparently incredibly good for you. Jane forces it onto Petra at every occasion she can get away with. Luisa too. They might be conspiring together. Trading off so Petra doesn't just snap and kill one of them for it.

“TP-ing?” Petra accepts the tea, she's gotten used to it. “What is that?”

“You don't...” Jane laughs lightly. “I forget sometimes that you grew up in a totally different country, speaking a different language.” Petra nearly bristles at that, but Jane only smiles and blows lightly on her tea. “It's when you throw toilet paper all over someone's house. Usually as a prank on Halloween.”

“That's ridiculous,” Petra scoffs.

“It is,” Jane agrees. “It's childish and so immature and that's why I can't believe that I did something so stupid. I don't know what came over me.” She shakes her head and reaches for her laptop, settling in to work on her latest paper for a few hours. Mateo is with Rafael for the afternoon.

Petra sits beside her quietly, sipping her tea and listening to Jane type and occasionally mutter to herself. Within half an hour, she's got a plan.

When Jane comes home the next afternoon, there are flowers left for her on the porch, a note of apology attached to them. Jane reads the note quickly, her eyes widening considerably as she reaches the final line.

“Holy shit,” she mutters.

“What?” Xiomara asks, reaching for the note. Alba takes Mateo from Jane's arms and listens as Xiomara reads it out loud. Petra leans against the kitchen doorframe, her smirk growing. “We promise to be more respectful of your time in the future, and hope that we can put this behind us and become friends. We'll be happy to pay for coffee, tea, or a beverage of your choosing.” Xiomara drops the note, her eyes wide. “Janie, what did you do?”

Jane shrugs comically. “I didn't do anything!” Xiomara makes a face at her. “Ma, I _didn't,”_ Jane insists. She looks baffled, taking the note from her mother and re-reading it. Then she gasps and looks up at Petra. “Oh my god.” Petra schools her face, only half-heartedly. “What did you do?” Jane asks her. Xiomara and Alba both whip their heads around to look at Petra. Jane's voice drops to a hush. “You didn't hurt them did you?”

Petra scoffs. “Of course not. They're perfectly fine. I just helped them to come around to your point of view,” Petra shrugs.

Jane gapes at her. Xiomara looks impressed and Alba begins laughing. “Gracias a Dios que está de nuestro lado ahora.” As the two of them slip by Petra and into the kitchen, Xiomara lightly touches Petra on the arm as she passes. A ghost of a touch that nearly bowls Petra over.

“You actually got them to want to be my friend?” Jane asks with amazement. Petra shrugs again, and makes to move past Jane and get out of the room, but Jane's arms stop her. Before Petra can say anything, or move out of the way, Jane is embracing her. “You're kind of amazing when you use your powers for good.”

Petra makes a strong noise of protest. Jane pulls back a bit, not quite releasing Petra, and gives her a smile like a thousand volts. Petra breathes in, her throat thick, and gives Jane a small smile in reciprocation.

…

…

“Here's the Lovey,” Rafael says, looking out of place holding up the rag doll as he stands on the Villanueva porch in a tuxedo suit.

Xiomara whistles at him as she ushers him inside. “So, the rumors of your hot date weren't exaggerated?”

Rafael smoothes down his tie awkwardly. “Is that what Jane told you? That I have a hot date?”

Xiomara shrugs and goes back to folding clothes and watching the television with Alba. Petra can't bring herself to get as caught up in the telenovelas as they do, but she is hiding from Jane. And half listening while she shops for stylish maternity clothes online isn't a terrible use of her night. “She's in her room,” Xiomara points.

Petra watches Rafael walk past the couch and into their bedroom. She smirks to herself once she hears Jane's growly voice rise in anger. She can make out the words, _'clogged duct',_ and _'boob flu',_ as Jane slowly enunciates, _'shut up and go away.'_ Alba rolls her eyes and Xiomara lets out a chuckle. Rafael comes stumbling back out of the room a moment later, confusion written all over his face.

“She's... um...”

“Mean?” Xiomara supplies. “Yeah, she gets like that when she's sick. Always has.”

“But that was...” Rafael glances back towards the bedroom.

“I CAN HEAR YOU!” Jane screams. “AND I HATE YOU ALL!”

“I think it's refreshing that she has flaws like this,” Petra quips. Xiomara snorts as she folds a pair of shorts that Petra can no longer squeeze herself into. “Except when I'm trying to sleep. She's been a nightmare. She rolls around in bed all night long, and snaps if I even shift an inch.”

Rafael blanches. “You...” he turns and looks back down the hall again. “You sleep in her bed?”

Xiomara and Petra both look up at him and frown. “Where else would she sleep?” Xiomara shrugs.

“I—”

“Did you think I spent the last three and a half months sleeping on the couch?” Petra takes a little pleasure in the way Rafael's face twists in pain. “Should you keep your date waiting any longer?” she prompts.

“Oh, right,” Rafael smoothes down his suit again and makes his way towards the door. “Night ladies.”

“Have fun,” Xiomara smiles.

“Thanks,” Rafael says, looking back at Petra sitting comfortably beside her on the couch.

She ignores him, holding her laptop towards Xiomara. “What do you think of these ones?”

…

…

Petra catches Jane holding a wooden... giraffe? She stares at it, a few tears slipping from her eyes and Petra feels like this moment should be private. But she recognizes the trinket for what it is now, something Micael carved for Jane when they first began dating.

Petra feels her insides had go prickly, even though she knows they have no right to.

Jane kisses the giraffe once, sucks in a breath, and lets it fall into the trash. Petra's eyes go wide. Jane has slowly rid herself of Michael's things over the past few months, (finally tossing his old hoodie out) but not this one. This, Xiomara thought Jane would never get rid of. No matter what.

Jane wipes the few tears out of her eyes, and nods at the trash can. Then she straightens and begins to make the nightly cup of tea she brings Petra.

Petra has a weird sensation in her legs. She wishes she had time to run around the block once or twice; maybe then she wouldn’t feel as if she were about to burn up or shatter.

…

…

Mateo needs to wear some ridiculous helmet to correct his flat head and Jane cries herself to sleep for three nights straight.

It's become less awkward for the two of them to share a bed, but Petra still isn't comfortable with any of the physical intimacy that eases out of Jane. Jane doles out hugs and touches as easy as breathing. Petra balls her hands into fists until her fingernails prick the skin on her palms rather than reach out.

But, Jane lying there sobbing isn't something that Petra can just pretend isn't happening. Not anymore. Tentatively, Petra shifts until she's resting upright against the headboard and reaches towards Jane.

Jane freezes for a moment, and Petra nearly yanks herself back, embarrassed and feeling idiotic, when Jane slides into her arms. She curls into Petra's side and clings to her tightly, sobbing about what a terrible mother she is, and how could she do this to her son? Petra rubs her back in small repeated circles and tells Jane that she is not a bad mother. Not anywhere near. Of all people, Petra knows this intimately.

Jane falls asleep still not believing her words. Her weight rests heavy on Petra's chest all night long. And when they wake the next morning, their bodies have tangled together further. Jane's fist grips tightly into Petra's shirt sometime in the night, and it hurts to uncurl it. Her face is still tear stained, and her voice comes out in a croak as she slips out of Petra's grasp, eyes so red it looks like she’d inhaled a desert while they slept.

Petra feels like she should say something, but the silence is fragile. Unknown. For all the progress she and Jane have made the last four months, they have never done this—whatever this is.

But when Petra gives her a shaky smile, Jane smiles back. Still, always. And she didn’t change that.

Jane reluctantly packs her bags for the mandatory writer's retreat. And Petra finds herself missing Jane the next three nights as she sleeps alone for the first time in months. She's restless and it takes ages for her to finally fall asleep.

She's never once wanted the presence of someone else in her bed if the option to sleep alone was presented to her.

When Rafael brings Jane home early, dejected that she missed another milestone in his life and upset that he won't nurse with the helmet, Petra can't believe how much seeing even a miserable Jane brings up her whole mood. The ring that's been residing on her left hand for over four months now turns a deep dark blue.

“I wanted to nurse him for a year,” Jane complains. “That was the plan.”

“Sometimes plans have to change,” Rafael says calmly. “Won't it be great not to have to pump anymore?" 

“Yes,” Jane admits, looking ashamed.

Petra leans over Mateo and places a sticker on his helmet. She found it in Jane's things. A unicorn. She smoothes it out as Mateo giggles and reaches for her hand. Petra allows him to play with her fingers, shoving them into his mouth and chomping down with his half gummy little stubs of teeth.

Jane turns and catches sight of the sticker and bursts out laughing. The sound and Jane's now bright smile pulls a tug of longing from Petra that she's becoming achingly familiar with.


	5. is this what you call love?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man, two updates in a row that took ages. i'm sorry guys. equally sorry that this is a very short chapter. i promise, the next update will not take as long, and will be closer to the normal length.

Petra knocks Luisa's hands down as she starts fussing with the sleeves of her shirt for the third time. “Stop it,” she orders.

“I'm sorry,” Luisa whispers, far too close to Petra's face. “Aren't you _nervous?”_

“No,” she snaps. “Calm down.”

Luisa huffs as the detective walks into the room to join them. “Sorry for the wait,” she smiles apologetically. “I'm doing the work for two right now.”

Petra rolls her eyes as Luisa perks up and smiles back widely. “That's totally fine,” she flips her hair out of her face, leaning forward and giving Detective Barnett a full view of her breasts. “My _sister-in-law_ and I have no problem waiting.”

Petra rolls her eyes again. Subtlety isn't something that Luisa is capable of.

“Ex-sister-in-law,” Petra corrects. “Technically.”

“Right,” Detective Barnett nods and shuffles through her files. “You're married to a... Jane Villanueva now, correct?” she frowns a little. “Who would be... my former partner's former fiancé?” she looks up a Petra with a nervous laugh. “Small world huh?”

“Indeed,” Petra says stiffly.

Detective Barnett turns back to her files. “And you both have—or are having—Rafael Solano's children? Your brother?” Luisa nods enthusiastically. “And we're looking for your former stepmother... who's wanted for your father's murder?”

Luisa makes a face. “Well... yeah.”

“It's a long story,” Petra says, with the clear implication that she is unwilling to explain it any further.

“And here I thought Texas had drama,” Detective Barnett says good-naturedly.

“What exactly do you need from us?” Petra asks her. It's stuffy in here, and she's has a doctor's appointment in an hour.

“Well, I wanted to follow up with the both of you. Make sure that I had all the information from you that I need. Mrs Villanueva, unfortunately, the case against Milos Dvoracek is stagnate at the moment. Since he's been deported, he's out of my jurisdiction. There's not much that I can do right now apart from have his colleague, Ivan monitored. And I'm afraid not much has come from that in the last few months.”

Petra swallows, this isn't exactly new information.

“But, I wanted to make sure you knew that we're not just forgetting it. Detective Cordero insisted when he left that I make sure to check in with you every few weeks or so while he's gone.”

“Gone?” Petra frowns. “Don't you mean fired?”

Detective Barnett freezes. “Yes,” she says, though there's a nervous lilt to her voice that has Petra raising her eyebrows. Detective Barnett sighs. “I can't reveal information from an ongoing investigation. Or something that might compromise an undercover detective,” she adds pointedly. Luisa nods along, clearly not paying attention to anything but the way the detective's lips are moving. But Petra's body goes rigid. Detective Barnett nods at her. Says something else about sensitive information, and not leaving the precinct walls, and Petra isn't listening anymore at all. Michael wasn't fired. He didn't leave disgraced and angry with Jane and Rafael. Not entirely. He's undercover.

He's a hero. Off on a dangerous mission, unable to tell his loved ones or compromise their safety. Like something out of one of Jane's goddamn romance novels.

Petra has never hated him more in her life.

It's a stark reaction that Petra's a little surprised by. She shakes the detective's hands and promises to keep the information to herself and _means it._ The thought of Jane finding out that Michael is off on some dangerous, who knows how long undercover job makes Petra nearly dizzy with anger. Jane would laud him as selfless and brave. Might dig around and find out that her mother had rescued that stupid wooden giraffe from the trash _just in case_ Jane changed her mind.

Petra is nauseous again.

“Can morning sickness come back?” she asks Luisa as they walk out of the precinct.

“Hum?” Luisa's waving goodbye to Detective Barnett.

“Just ask her out,” Petra snaps, pulling out her phone and calling an Uber.

“She's the lead detective on a case involving my dad's murder, my mom's possible disappearance, and my ex-girlfriend's involvement in both,” Luisa turns and frowns at Petra. Reaching out, she pulls Petra's hands out of their tight fists and intertwines their fingers together, swinging their hands back and forth. Petra allows this for exactly eighteen seconds before pulling away. “It's complicated,” Luisa says, looking back over her shoulder at Detective Barnett. “I'm biding my time.”

“You're not patient enough to do that.”

Luisa raises a brow at Petra. “Neither are you.”

“What?”

Luisa's mouth twists into a proud smirk. “So, Michael's undercover. Not fired,” she says with a casual shrug. “Interesting huh?”

“Don't talk about it,” Petra chides, noticing her Uber arriving. “Undercover relies on no one knowing or talking about it.”

“Right. Which is why we can't tell Jane,” Luisa grins, poking Petra in the side like a child. “No other reason right?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Petra snaps. “I've got a doctor's appointment. Do you want to come or not?”

“Will Raf be there?”

“He said he would be,” Petra slides into the backseat.

“Um, maybe I'll catch the next one,” Luisa says. Petra hides her frown as Luisa shrugs at her, trying to show that it doesn't matter. That the fact that it's been _months_ since their father died and Rafael _still_ hasn't talked to Luisa. That she has only seen Mateo a total of three times in the four and a half months of his life. And twice were with Petra and Jane. Not Rafael.

Petra doesn't care. Luisa and Rafael's relationship is not her problem anymore. They are not her family.

Except, the child growing in her belly is related to both of them. All of them. Rafael is the father of her baby, and Luisa is...

Petra looks up at her. Luisa, bitting her bottom lip and rearranging her hair in case Detective Barnett looks out the window. Pretending that she doesn't want to go to this appointment. That her brother's complete and total brush off doesn't affect her at all. That she doesn't keep going down to The Marbella's bar and sit alone, daring herself not to order a drink.

“Okay,” Petra agrees. Because she's terrified about this appointment enough already. She can't deal with being the buffer between the Solano siblings while finding out the sex of her baby. Finding out if it's alright.

(Still there.)

Petra closes the car door and relaxes back into her seat as much as she can. “I'll call you after,” she promises.

Luisa nods enthusiastically. “Yes! I'll bet you twenty bucks it's a girl.”

Petra rolls her eyes. As the Uber pulls away from the curb, Petra decides that she's over this. She's sick of having to tip toe around Rafael and Luisa about the other. It's done. Rafael is the father of her baby and Luisa is its aunt. The two of them need to get over themselves. If Petra is going to have this child (and, despite everything, that still pops into her head as an _if_ each time) then it is damn well going to have more people in its life than Petra ever did.

Even if she has to knock their heads together herself.

The Uber pulls up to her doctor's office and Petra climbs out, pulling her shoulders back and walking confidently into the office. As she signs in and sits down to wait, she can't help the way that her leg bounces, crossed over top the other, constantly in motion no matter how often she catches herself. She crosses her arms, impatient and ready to be done with this afternoon. There's no sign of Rafael. She should have just made Luisa come with her. Petra knows Rafael has a bunch of meetings today. Him making it to the appointment is a long shot at best.

Her leg won't stop bouncing.

As she waits, Petra can't stop thinking about what Luisa said to her before she got in the Uber. About why the thought of telling Jane about Michael makes her skin feel like it's on fire. About how Luisa's been making small remarks like that to her for weeks now. About the way that Jane's face twisted into something like jealousy as she came home from her Mommy and Me class and announced that Rafael was officially dating one of the mothers. Insisting to Xiomara that she wasn't jealous, it was just a little uncomfortable and weird. Petra's stomach had clenched uncomfortably anyway. For no reason. _She_ certainly isn't jealous. Petra couldn't care less whom Rafael dates. She has no illusions about their relationship anymore.

It had felt like she cared anyway.

Except that she wasn't thinking about Rafael and some strange woman, she was thinking of Jane and Rafael. A familiar tug of jealousy by now, Petra's been dealing with it for over a year. But... it didn't feel familiar then, and it doesn't feel familiar now.

Petra checks her phone, there is a new text from Rafael saying that he's stuck in a meeting. He's trying to get them to hurry up, but he will be late, might not make it at all. Petra sighs and drops her phone into her purse. She _knew_ she should have just pulled Luisa along with her.

A nurse comes and calls Petra's name. Smiling as she motions for Petra to follow along down the hall. Looking behind her for the father and frowning once she sees that Petra is all alone.

“Daddy running late?” she asks, voice pitched too high. Too sweet.

Petra pulls her face into a trophy wife smile. Perfected over the years at functions on Rafael's arm. Always directed at catty bitches who would claw each other's eyes out given the opportunity. Instead, they learn to say _'fuck you'_ with a smile. The nurse shrinks under Petra's gaze and hurries to take her blood pressure without making eye contact.

Success.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” the woman looks up from the file where she's written Petra's blood pressure down. “Will your wife be joining you?” to her credit, she looks genuinely apologetic. Petra watches her shift her weight, she's young. Probably younger than Jane.

“No—” Petra starts, but she's interrupted by the door bursting open and an out of breath Jane appearing in the room.

“I'm here!” she pants. “An old man on the bus passed out! It was a whole thing, we had to switch busses. He's fine!” she directs towards the nurse, moving further into the room and standing beside Petra. “Just dehydrated. Did I miss anything? Oh my god, do you already know the sex? Are we done already?” she grabs Petra's hand and squeezes, looking back and forth between her and the nurse in anticipation.

“No,” Petra manages to croak out, staring down at their hands. Their mood rings clack against each other. Jane's is a bright pink. Petra's turns jet black for a moment, then bright orange.

“You're her wife?” the nurse asks, checking down at her file again.

“Yes, I'm Jane,” she sticks her free hand out and shakes the nurse's.

“And... it looks like you're all set,” the nurse pulls off her gloves and smiles at them both. “The doctor will be in to see you in a moment. You can go ahead and lie down and relax. It was nice to meet you both!”

Petra makes no move to lie down, and Jane stands there beside her, hand still in Petra's as she begins recounting her Adventure On the Bus. Petra doesn't even try to listen. Her eyes are glued to their hands. Why, she can't name. Jane has held her hand many times in the last few months. Petra has been shocked by it each time, but now—

The doctor slips into the room, all smiles and Petra finds herself directed onto the table. Her shirt lifted and cold gel squirted onto her belly and she flinches. Jane's hand in hers squeezes, and her other hand finds its way to Petra's hair, lightly brushing it as she looks at the monitor. Petra's heartbeat feels much too loud. She tries to do a Yoga breath. _Doesn't_ look at the monitor. Can't stop feeling every nerve ending in her body pulsing where Jane is touching her.

The doctor hums, moving the ultrasound along Petra's belly.

“What?” Petra panics, quickly looking between Jane and the monitor. “What's wrong?”

_(It's dead. Again. She is toxic. Her mother was right.)_

“Nothing's wrong,” the doctor assures her. “That... is a little girl. And, that's another little girl! Wow! You're having twins.”

“Ohhhh my god,” Jane says in an excited hush.

“What, no. No I'm not,” Petra argues.

“Yes, you are,” the doctor says, far too calmly. “Do twins run in your family?”

“NO! Definitely not.”

“Well, congratulations!” the doctor smiles. “They both look great.”

Time stops. It’s a cliché that makes Petra want to roll her eyes, but, for a moment, everything freezes and she’s stuck, unable to think, to move, to breathe. Then Jane's hand in hers squeezes again, and she emits a squeal of happiness. Petra can feel Jane bouncing beside her. And then Jane is bent over her, their foreheads knocking together, Jane's lips pressing against Petra's and gone before she can even register that it's happening. She's upright again, bouncing up and down and chanting, “Twins, oh my god twins!” over and over again.

Petra is only half listening to the doctor, or Jane. Jane's hand hasn't left hers since the moment she entered the room. Petra didn't... she didn't even _tell_ Jane about this appointment. Did she? She never asked her to come. Never expected it. Never, ever expected her to rush in when Petra was terrified and alone—desperately trying not to be—and tell her a funny story about an old man on a bus to calm her down.

Never expected in a million years to be having _twins._ To have Jane stand there, bursting with excitement, going on and on about how fun it's going to be to have girls. For Mateo to have sisters. How excited Alba is going to be that it's girls, not that she doesn't _love_ Mateo, but _girls!_ How Xiomara is definitely going to dress them up in a bunch of dorky coordinated outfits. That they're going to have to figure out how to rearrange their room to fit two more cribs. And maybe they can push the bed against the wall differently? Or if maybe they make bigger cribs designed for twins, because Jane's read that twins usually want to be together. That they might sleep better that way. And isn't that right?

The doctor answers Jane, but Petra doesn't hear her. Jane is talking about the babies as if... as if it's a no brainer that she'll be there. Helping. That Petra will still be living with them. As if these babies are Jane's family too. 

Petra finds herself being helped up, and she pulls her shirt down in a daze, sitting there and trying to breathe. She vaguely registers the sound of the door opening and a hurried Rafael entering, apology on his tongue. Jane jumps up and down—her hand still holding Petra's tightly—and yells out happily, “We're having twins! It's girls!” The ring that's pressed against Petra's own is turning a deep vivid purple. Petra's own matches. She's never noticed them matching before now.

“Twins?” Rafael almost gasps. He sounds horrified. Petra doesn't blame him in the slightest.

“I know!” Jane yells, her voice full of excitement. “We're gonna need so much stuff! I'll start making a list on the bus. Oh my god, I can't believe it! We've got a million things to do. You're already four months pregnant. Okay, so Rafael you get—”

Petra tunes her out, staring at the floor and following along on autopilot as the doctor has her sign some things, and then Jane leads her out of the office. (Hands still clasped together.) Rafael looks like he's nearly in as much of a daze as Petra feels, but Jane is taking this all in stride. Excited about the prospect of helping.

Petra hasn't—hasn't thought of it before, and she doesn't want to think of it now, but maybe—

—maybe it's not that Jane needs _her_ , so much as she just—needs to be needed. She wants her there maybe, but Jane doesn't need her. She's never going to need her, and Petra, she needs Jane, definitely, and _Jesus_ , maybe she even—

She looks down at Jane, and it's like the world has suddenly shifted itself without her consent.

The wonder grows, till it’s too big to hold in and she thinks she might throw up from it. It’s an accident, but when she runs her tongue over her bottom lip, she can still taste Jane's chapstick in the corner of her lip. It tastes like papaya. Like the one that Petra bought for her last week.

And Petra thinks: _fuck_.


	6. a hat, where there never was a hat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i stole/borrowed a little folktale scene from the raven king, bc i just finished it, and it was perfect, and it fit exactly what i wanted to convey. so... yeah. thanks stiefvater. also, WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ENDING TO THE SERIES. i've been reading when i wanted to be writing and i have A LOT of feelings.

One night, when she is six, Petra manages to talk Magda into telling her a bedtime story. It's late, far later than a six year old should be awake, and she's convinced that the proper story will lull her into sleep. Magda looks at her skeptically, then, there's a flash of fondness that is rare—so rare, but known instantly for what it is—and Petra settles happily. Magda tells her all sorts of stories over the years, but none of them are ever proper ones. Instead, she gets cautionary tales. Warnings. Never tales of magic or princesses. Devils and wolves waiting to eat her up, maybe. Petra can never fully remember how this one goes, but always remembers how much she liked Magda telling it. How much this one moment, out of three decades of moments, it might be her favorite.

Magda sits perched on the side of Petra's bed, and begins. Her voice low and gravelly. No part of her touches Petra, but as she spins out the tale, it feels a bit like a hug anyhow.

The story begins with a girl—who sounds an awful lot like Petra, as the girls often do in Magda’s stories—and an old woman—who sounds an awful lot like Magda, as the women often do in Magda’s stories. The old woman might be a witch, actually, and the girl her apprentice, though Petra may be conflating that with a film she’d seen once. Magda tells her that this is an old folk tale. Back from the days when the Soviet was grand and its people were bountiful and rich. (Petra never believes this, even at six. There is no evidence Petra has seen to suggest that this could ever have been a true thing.) In the tale, there is a magical salmon who will bestow happiness onto the person who eats it. Or, possibly wisdom. Petra can never remember exactly. In any case, the old woman is too lazy or busy to spend her time trying to catch the salmon, and so she orders the girl to go out and catch it for her. The girl spends days, weeks, months possibly—time in tales isn't always certain—searching and searching. Her hands grow cold and raw from the harsh winter rivers. When she finally catches it, the salmon fights against her bloody little triumphant fists. Nothing comes without a price. The girl is under strict instructions to cook the fish and bring it to the old woman. The girl does as she is told, since she is just as clever as the old witch. (Possibly more, Petra interjects. Magda pauses here, and almost leaves without finishing the story. Only beginning again as Petra slinks further into the covers and promises to be quiet.) As the girl cooks up the salmon, she burns herself. Clever and resourceful, but too small to reach the stovetop properly all on her own. Before she can think about it, she puts her burned finger into her mouth and gets the salmon’s magic for herself.

Petra walks into the lobby of The Marbella and freezes at the sight of Jane, standing beside Lina near the bar. She feels like the little girl in the story, somehow caught happiness without meaning to. But, the story doesn't end there, and Magda never finishes it. Petra asks and asks and asks, and Magda refuses each time. Only warns that happiness is fleeting. A thing for stories. Not something for real life.

Real life has never felt more precarious to Petra than it does right now.

She's been holed up in her office for days, burying herself in work and avoiding the Villanueva house as much as she possibly can. She watches as Lina leans in and says something to Jane, and Petra can hear her laugh from all the way across the room. She finds herself accosted by an unwelcome, but now familiar tug of longing.

Now that she is aware of her feelings for Jane, they are impossible to ignore. Like the bulge, ever growing in her stomach, they feel nearly as obvious, like some physical change has happened and she can't ignore it any longer.

She's just as terrified by them as she is by the prospect of the two little girls growing inside of her.

Jane, still laughing, wipes down the water glass in her hand and turns her head towards Petra's direction. She almost falls on her ass ducking behind a plant before Jane can see her.

“Petra?” Luisa asks, coming up behind her with an amused frown on her face. “Whatcha doing?”

“Nothing,” she clucks her tongue, more annoyed with herself than anything else. Before Luisa can comment any further, she asks after Detective Barnett. Leading Luisa back down towards her office as she goes on and on about how Susanna is _definitely_ into her and it's only a matter of time before they're at the very _least_ making out on a regular basis.

Petra listens to Luisa for hours. Distracting her with something new each time it seems like she might try bringing the conversation back around to why Petra was hiding in a plant.

“Aren't you going home?” Luisa finally asks, at eleven-thirty, after Petra's phone has dinged with a fourth text message from Jane wondering where she is, and does she want her to save Petra's dinner, and has there been any nausea?

“Can I just sleep here?” Petra asks. “I'm exhausted.”

Luisa looks surprised. Petra's a bit surprised herself, but she doesn't allow it to show.

“Um, sure. Do you... I mean all your things are at Jane's aren't they?”

“I've got some things in my office. But if you don't want me here I'll go home,” Petra rises, somewhat uncomfortably and starts to make her way towards the door.

“Petra, don't be a bitch,” Luisa chides, not unkindly. “You can sleep here.”

Petra twists her face into something that she hopes looks grateful. Luisa laughs at her and goes to find something that Petra can use as pajamas.

 _Work piled up. Sleeping here._ Petra sends to Jane. _I'm fine._

The response is immediate, though Petra knows that Jane has an early class tomorrow and was planning on going to sleep at nine-thirty if she could manage it.

_Oh, you booked a room?_

_No. i'm in Luisa's._

(…)

The text bubble appears for a full minute before disappearing, and reappearing twice.

 _Oh. okay._ Jane finally sends.

_I'll see you tomorrow?_

Luisa walks over and hands her a large t-shirt and some cotton shorts that look stretched out. Petra wants to be offended, but she can't. She slips into the bathroom to change.

_Of course. Sleep well Jane._

_You too!_

Petra sets her phone down onto the counter and stares at herself in the mirror. There are bags underneath her eyes.

(…)

She watches the text bubble as she relieves herself.

_It's weird, the bed feels really big now that i'm the only one in it. I can't get comfortable with all this space i've got now. Totally weird huh? i've gotten so used to you being here._

Petra emits a strangled inarticulate noise and grasps at the edge of the sink, feeling like she's been punched.There are moments where you can taste your difference from another person, like copper on your tongue. Jane must have absolutely no idea what those words do to Petra, otherwise, she'd never send them at all. She's not a cruel enough person. Petra breathes, in and out, and sets the phone down on the countertop, staunchly ignoring it as she peels herself out of her clothes and into Luisa's borrowed ones. She splashes cold water on her face. Once, twice. Then rinses with the fluoride mouthwash she finds underneath the sink before she looks at herself in the mirror again.

Petra cares about Jane.

She knew this fact already, but, she wasn't aware of the depth of it. Of how far down inside of her this things twists. Each time that Jane smiles at her, or laughs, or touches Petra's arm-back-shoulder-hand-body, it grows like vines, curling up inside of her.

Petra has never felt this full in all her life.

This isn't anywhere close to how she felt with Milos. A girl-woman, too young to know better and starved for affection. Lachlan was never anything more than a mark and an orgasm. The ticket to a new country and a new life. Rafael—Rafael, Petra loved, once. But, her love for him never scared her quite like this. Never felt this big. It came close sometimes, but now that she feels it, this Jane-love, what she felt for Rafael wasn't ever this immense. Roman was adrenaline and self-flagellation disguised as a means to hurt Rafael and a quick orgasm all in one.

Jane—

Petra lifts up her phone. It takes her three minutes to type out: _I know what you mean. I've gotten used to you being here too. Goodnight Jane._

Petra doesn't know how to love. Not properly. Not the way that the Villanueva women know it. Not the way that Luisa falls desperately, wholly, without agonizing over every little detail. The only person Petra ever came close to being in love with divorced her. Deep down, might still hate her just a little bit. Petra is terrible at maintaining relationships. They end in tears, or death, or prison. Or they delve into something awkward and unsure. Not quite sister, not quite friend. Hanging in a balance and constantly on the verge of breaking in half. She has never felt more like she is in uncharted territory in all her life. Desperate and too afraid to move.

If she does nothing, then she can't ruin anything. Fighting for Rafael only pushed him further away from her. And he—he had already loved her back, once. Despite everything, Petra knows this to be true. It may not have lasted, it may have not been good for either of them in the end, but, for a while, it was real.

Jane—

Her phone dings: the upside-down smiling emoji. _Goodnight Petra._

Jane isn't in love with Petra. The notion has probably never even occurred to her. If it was presented, she would dismiss it with laughter in an instant. Jane—despite her continued insistence to the contrary—is still half in love with Michael, and half in love with Rafael. Jane has never once made a single comment that might deem someone to conclude that she has the slightest interest in women. Jane, out of all the people in the world who could love her, would never chose _Petra._

But, maybe that doesn't matter.

Petra is in lo—

Petra has—

Petra _is..._

There are immense feelings. For Jane. But, maybe that doesn't matter. Maybe, fighting for Jane will just end as disastrously as it had with Rafael. Insanity, she's heard, is doing the same things over and expecting different results.

Which, well.

Right now, Petra _has_ Jane. Not quite in the way that she wants but maybe that doesn't matter anymore. Maybe Petra has never deserved more than this. Maybe, this can be enough.

Maybe, it won't last past the twins birth. Past Luisa's sort-of-girlfriend ensuring that Milos is no longer a threat and their sham of a marriage is dissolved. Past Jane falling into Michael-Rafael-who-knows arms.

Maybe.

But, maybe it will. Insanity is doing the same things over and expecting different results. Petra, trying to force the world to bend to what she wants it to be has never once worked out for her. Her mother is in prison. She is pregnant and partially alone. She is probably falling in love with someone who doesn't love her back.

She fought her instincts and let Luisa in, and now—

“Petra?” Luisa calls out softly, “you okay?”

Now Luisa is a friend? Petra flicks the light off and goes into the bedroom. Luisa is sitting up against the headboard, scrolling through her phone. Petra forgot how large the beds in The Marbella are. How much space there is in this room. It feels too big.

Luisa smiles at her. “Thought you fell in. I was just about to come rescue you.”

Petra smiles back. Nothing about it is forced. (Maybe the biggest surprise of the night.) She slips into the bed beside Luisa and only feels the slightest bit of awkwardness.

“Thank you,” she whispers as Luisa reaches over to turn the light off. “For letting me sleep here.”

Luisa must notice the rawness in Petra's voice. It's too deep to hide, though she is trying. Desperately. Luisa may be her friend now, but it's tentative. Still new. Still could be broken if Petra does or says the wrong thing.

But, Luisa feels the same as Petra does. This, she knows without thinking about it. It might even be why Petra decided to allow friendship to develop. Luisa is just as much of a fuck up as Petra. It's comforting. Neither of them have any idea what they're doing.

“You know me,” Luisa jokes. “Anything to get a woman in my bed.”

Petra laughs, so hard that her already pregnancy-weak bladder nearly betrays her. “Go to sleep,” she orders once they've both calmed down.

Technically, Petra already has Jane. She twists the mood ring on her left finger as she settles in and gets comfortable. It won't last. Of that, Petra is sure. But, she can ensure that something stays once this fake marriage is behind them. Jane's friendship. Mateo's sisters. Something like family. It's more than she's ever had before.

Maybe, it will be enough.

…

…

Thanksgiving is both wonderful, and a disaster.

Petra sits between Rogelio and Alba and feels like she belongs at this table. Xiomara laughs and saves Petra's hair from falling into the gravy bowl without hesitation. Rogelio is drunk with happiness, doling out hugs left and right. Alba holds Petra's hand and says Grace and Petra understands every word apart from two. Jane lightly kicks Petra underneath the table and mouths the translations to her with a bright smile.

Mateo throws mashed potatoes on the wall and falls asleep in Rafael's arms.

Petra helps Alba clean up after Jane goes to put Mateo down for his nap. Xiomara and Rogelio argue about what to watch on the television. (Everyone vetoes football.)

Petra opens the window as she washes the fine china by hand. It may be fall but it's still Miami. She's still nearly six months pregnant. She's caught up in her task, barely taking note of the voices that float up from the porch swing until she hears Rafael ask Jane out on a date.

She drops one of Alba's plates. A gift from her husband, precious, well loved—important.

She hisses, not from the sharp pain growing in her hand, nor the sight of blood filling up the soapy water, but at the heavy silence that follows Rafael's question.

“Petra!” Alba says, grabbing paper towels and pulling her hand out of the sink. “¡Cuidado! ¿Estás bien?”

Jane is... not exactly telling Rafael no.

“Sí,” Petra answers. A lie. Her palm is throbbing. Alba holds it under the cool water, then holds it up above Petra's head. “Lo siento. No era mi intención hacerlo.”

“No,” Alba insists. “No se preocupe. No es importante.”

“But—” Petra protests.

“No es importante,” Alba repeats firmly. “Mire, hay un montón más. Vamos, vamos a limpiarte.”

Petra doesn't hear the rest of Jane's answer.

…

…

Black Friday shopping is a Villanueva women holiday tradition.

Petra and Rafael walk into the department store, looking equally out of place. Petra waddles, frowning and wanting to go home. Rafael beams, Mateo strapped to his chest, looking like he's having the time of his life.

Petra would love nothing more than to smack the grin off of his face.

Jane eliminates it for her. With words. It's much more satisfying.

They split up.

First, Petra ends up with Xiomara. She bites her tongue and pushes the cart and tries not to complain about her feet hurting, or the store smelling. Within half an hour, Jane runs into them in the middle of an isle and they both play it off like it's a coincidence, but Xiomara obviously texted Jane to come switch. Petra bites her tongue and says nothing.

“Aw, look how cute this is!” Jane coos, holding up a onesie.

Petra makes a face. “It has ducks on it,” she frowns.

Jane glances down at the front. “What's wrong with ducks?” Petra's frown deepens. She reaches out and plucks the offending garment from Jane's hands and puts it back on the rack. “You seriously hate ducks?” Jane asks as they walk away.

“I don't _hate_ ducks,” Petra corrects. “I'm indifferent to ducks,” she pushes the cart slowly, using it to keep her balance. “They're too indifferent to humans,” she explains. “Not frightened or aggressive. I always feel like they're potting something.”

“Seriously?” Jane asks, a hint of laughter in her voice.

Petra stops walking and glares down at her. “Don't make fun of me,” she snaps, wishing she'd just said _'yes, I hate ducks_ ' and nothing more.

“I'm not,” Jane says quickly. “Petra,” she reaches up and touches her forearm lightly. Petra's body shivers without her consent. “I promise, I'm not. It's just... it's a little funny. I've never heard ducks described like that before.” Jane's finger rubs a small circle on Petra's arm. Absently. Petra is ninety-nine percent sure that Jane isn't even aware of herself doing it. She forces herself to focus on Jane's face. “So, no ducks on the girls' stuff, noted.” Jane smiles, then her face lights up and she gasps again. “Oh! Look at that one! What about elephants? Do you have something against elephants?”

Petra looks at the clothing Jane is pointing at. They're... not horrible.

“I have nothing against elephants.”

“Yay! Because I love elephants,” Jane says seriously. “So our whole afternoon would have been dedicated to me changing your mind.” Jane starts grabbing things off the shelves and squealing at their adorableness, and Petra almost wishes she'd told Jane that she hates elephants, just to see how that argument would have gone. Lists would be involved for sure. Possibly videos. Petra could have dragged it on for hours. Getting Jane to the point where she's flushed pink and bouncing, pacing and unable to sit until her point is properly made.

Petra reaches out for a light pink onesie with a purple whale on its front. She pulls it off the rack and smiles as brushes her fingers lightly over it.

“Whales?” Jane asks, grinning. Her arms are full of clothes already. There is no way they are buying all of that.

“I like whales,” Petra defends. “They sing to each other to communicate. They used to be able to sing to each other across whole oceans, but there's too much pollution and extra shit in the water now. Tanks and things. They can't sing as far anymore. But they still sing anyway.”

When Petra looks up it's impossible to tell what Jane's facial expression means. Only that whatever is about to come out of her mouth, Petra doesn't want to hear it. Not now. Not in the middle of a department store. Not when she doesn't really mean it in the way Petra wants.

“I'm going to the bathroom, here, take my card and buy these. I'll meet you out front,” she all but throws her purse at Jane before waddling as fast as she can away from her.

Bravery is for idiots and do-gooders. Pera is neither.

When she comes back from the bathroom, she knocks into an immobile Rafael. “What are you—”

Jane is standing in front of them talking to Michael. They're both smiling.

The sight of Michael here after six months is so shocking that Petra leans into Rafael without thinking. Instinct. Her body is too heavy and he's warm and solid. Rafael flinches. They both pull away from each other at the same time. Jane walks over towards them, waving goodbye to Michael and beaming.

Petra swallows and holds herself together, waiting for the inevitable blow to fall. Jane told Rafael no at Thanksgiving. Kind of. As she'd explained it to Petra as they were getting ready for bed, it was more of a 'not yet' than anything else. This wasn't surprising to Petra in the slightest, but it hurt so much more than she ever thought it would.

This though, this feels like a shutter slamming shut. A possibility that was supposed to be taken out of the equation. Jane practically skips towards them and Petra breathes deeply and waits. She can’t be the first to speak; her voice might shake.

“Michael was undercover!” Jane announces, full volume. Behind them, Xiomara gasps. “Shit,” Jane whispers, looking around the store frantically. “I didn't mean to yell that.”

Petra walks out of the store slowly. Hanging behind Xiomara and Jane as they talk about Michael's return in near code. Highly aware of Rafael beside Petra. Rafael bristles, but otherwise says nothing. Bounces Mateo slightly as he kicks out his feet and chews at his own fist. Petra waddles behind them all.

When she and Jane go to sleep that night, Jane announces that she and Michael are going to lunch tomorrow to catch up. She beams, radiating happiness as she slips into the bed and rolls towards Petra. Petra smiles and hums, closing her eyes. She doesn’t ask Jane any of the questions that are fighting to crawl their way out of her throat.

She's made her decision. It's going to be enough.

…

…

“He's got a girlfriend,” Jane announces as she walks into the kitchen after her lunch with Michael.

“What!” Xiomara gasps. “Michael?”

“Yep,” Jane nods. “Natalie. She's a lifeguard and a swimming coach. Pretty.”

“You're... are we okay with this?” Xiomara asks warily.

Petra would very much like the answer to that question as well. She sits silently and does not sip her tea.

“We are,” Jane says, looking absolutely serious. “It's been six months Ma. I'm always going to love Michael, but... it's because he's my best friend. I thought maybe...” she sits down beside Petra and takes a carrot slice off her plate without asking. “When I saw him again, I'll admit, I thought about it. But... we talked for a really long time and neither of us are in that place anymore,” she shrugs.

“Jane...” Xiomara starts.

“Ma, we're not. I realized it the minute I sat down and he pulled a face to make me laugh. I missed him. Like _crazy_. But, I'm not in love with him anymore,” she says this with a surety that Petra has only seen on her when she is talking about her writing, or her love for Mateo. “We weren't meant to be I guess.”

Xiomara frowns and studies Jane for a moment, then clucks her tongue and sighs. “Well, your father's going to be devastated.”

Jane laughs. “I already texted Dad and told him he's welcome to be Michael's friend as much as he wants. Michael's still _my_ friend. We're just not in love. Or going to get married.” Jane laughs, turning to Petra. “Which, by the way, he asked how marriage is treating us,” she grins and Petra has to force a smile onto her face. “And he said he's going to check over everything Detective Barnett has gotten on Milos and Ivan so far. Sin Rostro has top priority still—that's why he was undercover—but he wanted me to tell you that he's on it. He didn't forget.”

Petra swallows thickly. She sips her tea twice before it feels like she can speak without her voice cracking. “That's nice of him.”

Jane frowns at her and Petra knows it wasn't convincing enough. She can't muster up anything else.

“Does your back hurt?” Jane asks her. Petra nods. A good excuse as any, and it's not even a lie. “Come here,” Jane tugs her up and starts shuffling her gently towards their bedroom. “Lie down. I'll get you a heating pad.”

Petra lays on her right side as Jane, heating pad half draped on her, half forgotten, lays down beside her. She absently rubs Petra's back as she tells her more about lunch with Michael. Petra focuses on Jane's hands, and Jane's laugh, and the pressure against her back, and tries to remember that a feeling can't kill you.

It has to be enough. 


	7. routine blues

Petra seethes quietly on the bed as Jane paces in front of her.

“Does this dress say, ‘I’m going into this open minded but I think that we really need to ease into it and talk about a lot of things’ to you?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” Petra mutters, picking at the nail polish that’s beginning to chip on her thumbnail. It’s called _hit and run_. Utterly ridiculous. People should call things what they are: bright red. Going on a date with Rafael. Wallowing in jealousy and not talking about it.

“Petra,” Jane sighs, “I need help.”

Petra flicks a bit of the red polish onto the floor. She should have used a base coat underneath it when she put it on Tuesday. When she looks up, Jane is waiting, an expression of annoyance and confusion on her face. She’s asked (more than once) what exactly has been going on with Petra the last few weeks. Petra hasn’t been able to give her an answer. Not one that won’t shake up their entire relationship. Not one that she is willing to voice.

“The red dress looks good on you,” she offers. Because it _does._ It hugs every curve on Jane’s body. Sinfully so. The thought of Rafael seeing Jane in it makes Petra’s skin feel like it’s on fire.

Jane frowns at it. “Yeah, but, don’t you think that’s a little fancy?”

“You _are_ going on a date, are you not?” Petra arches an eyebrow.

“Well, _yeah,”_ Jane starts shifting through her closet again. Petra’s clothes are mixed in with Jane’s at this point. Jane pulls out a top of Petra’s and holds it up in front of her. “But, I mean we’re not going somewhere _that_ fancy,” Jane scoffs. Petra’s eyebrow goes higher. Jane sucks in a breath. “Oh, shit. We’re _not_ are we?”

Petra shrugs. “How would I know?” she flicks two more bits of polish onto the comforter. Jane frowns at her. Petra shoves them into the small trash can beside the bed.

“Well…” Jane looks highly uncomfortable. “You’ve… gone out with him before,” she says, swallowing with difficulty. “What sort of places did you guys go to?”

Petra stops picking at her nails and locks eyes with Jane. “Seriously?”

Jane’s shoulders slump. “I know! I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make this weird! I don’t want this to be weird. I don’t know why I said yes. This is such a bad idea.” Jane drops Petra’s top onto the bed and pulls out her phone. “I’m cancelling. I don’t want a babysitter anyway. It’s stupid! Mateo has lots of family members who can watch him.”

“All of whom are busy right now.” Petra reminds her. Jane frowns at her as she types. “I have a lot of work to do!” Petra defends. “And I also offered to watch Mateo. _You_ said you’d use the babysitter instead because you decided that you loved her now.”

“I do.” Jane’s shoulders slump further. This time, she drops onto the bed, knocking into Petra’s legs. “I do kind of love her. And there _are_ going to be times when we’re going to need a babysitter.” She glances down at Petra’s ever protruding stomach. “Especially once they get here.”

“Oh, I’ll be having around the clock nannies,” Petra assures her. It’s only partly a joke. Jane laughs anyway, like it’s ludicrous. Her phone dings and she frowns at it, biting her bottom lip in frustration. “Wear my top and your yellow skirt,” Petra offers. “It will be dressed up enough if Rafael goes full on suit and tie, and still casual enough if you go somewhere else.” Petra wants Jane to shake her head. To say _no, I actually don’t want to do this._ To sit with Petra in the living room while she answers emails and work on her paper that’s due next week. Anything, that doesn’t involve Jane’s face lighting up, her squeal of excitement, her happiness at the prospect of going out on a date with Rafael.

But Petra knows better than to let herself want like that. She’s known it from the moment that she met Jane.

Jane leaps up, saying, _thankyouthankyouthankyou!_ and yanks her yoga pants off and pulls the skirt on. Petra looks back down at her nails when Jane’s shirt comes off and her own goes on over Jane’s head. She thinks that Xiomara might have a base coat somewhere in her room. Petra flicks off another piece of polish.

Her nails are ragged and bare by the time that Jane’s hair and makeup are done.

Rafael, true to form, shows up in a suit. Jane blanches, and before Petra can really think about it, her hand is pressing against the small of Jane’s back in reassurance. Jane smiles, leaning back into Petra for a moment. Then, she and Rafael are off, and Petra is left alone with the babysitter and Mateo.

“I’ll be at the hotel working,” she says. “You can call me if there is a problem.”

“Yes Miss Petra,” she bounces Mateo gently in one arm. Jane and Rafael hadn’t… exactly explained the full situation to the woman. To her, Petra is a roommate.

Which, is _true._ Petra gathers her laptop underneath her arm and walks out onto the porch. It’s a warm night, full of stars. The perfect romantic evening for a first date. She breathes in, wet and heavy from the tears she doesn’t want to fall and goes to work.

…

…

When Jane comes bursting into their bedroom, hours later, Petra wakes with a jolt.

“I cannot _believe_ him,” she hisses.

“What?” Petra rubs at her eyes and looks at the clock on the night table. Nine-thirty. Petra hadn’t meant to fall asleep. But, pregnancy hormones tend to have a mind of their own. After an hour of trying to get work done, she’d given up and come home. She’s surprised that _Jane_ is home this early.

“Rafael,” Jane seethes, brandishing the nanny cam in front of Petra’s face. “He did it. He _lied.”_ She’s practically shaking with rage.

Petra sits up and leans against the headboard. “What are you talking about? Why are you home so early?”

“He lied. He said—” Jane sucks in a breath “—he looked me in the eye and _promised_ that he had nothing to do with Michael getting suspended.” Jane waves the nanny cam around again, smacking at the screen with her pointer finger. “He paid someone to go in and talk to his boss. I—” she sputters, pulling at her hair.

“That’s on the camera?” Petra is confused and still half asleep.

“No—yes. He’s on the phone paying someone to go in and talk to Michael’s boss.” Jane runs her fingers through her hair. It’s coming out of the half up-do she’d spent twenty minutes going back and forth on a few hours ago. “I can’t believe him,” she sags down onto the bed, knocking into Petra’s legs.

“And…” Petra rubs at her eyes, trying to make sense of the information. “That’s why you’re home early? The—did you take the nanny cam on your date?” she can’t help the incredulous tone in her voice. It’s insane, but it’s not exactly implausible coming from Jane. Not with how antsy she’s been about having a babysitter at all.

 _“No!”_ Jane insists, looking a little put upon at Petra’s accusation. “We came home early because of this,” she sets the nanny cam aside and pulls out her phone. After a moment of scrolling, she holds it up to Petra and rises off the bed. Changing while Petra reads the article.

“The Curse of the Solanos,” Petra sucks in a breath. “Oh my god, this is terrible press for The Marbella.”

Jane whips around, glaring at Petra in her bra and underwear. “Petra, it’s terrible for _Rafael, Luisa_ and _Mateo._ Not to mention, that… that… _jerk,_ Wesley, is in my writing class. I thought he was my friend. _I_ made the ‘Curse of the Solanos’ joke to him. I’m the reason this is even happening!” Jane flops herself onto the bed dramatically, her face hidden in the covers. “You’re right though,” she says, her voice muffled and guilt ridden. “It _is_ terrible for you too. And The Marbella.”

Petra hums. Reaching out and sort of rubbing Jane’s back in sympathy while she starts to do damage control. She’s wide awake now. “This isn’t actually your fault,” she tells Jane.

“It’s partly my fault.”

“Well, true,” Petra agrees. Jane sits up and stares at Petra, mouth agape. Petra shrugs. “It _is._ I’m not going to lie to you. You’re too trusting. So is Luisa. I’ve told both of you that multiple times and now it’s come to bite you both in the ass.”

“Luisa?” Jane asks.

Petra turns her phone towards Jane. “Did you read the whole thing? He absolutely used Luisa as a source. Anyone who’s talked to her for more than five minutes would be able to tell. So, relax,” Petra shrugs. “It’s more her fault then yours.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better!” Jane yells. She launches herself off the bed and starts putting on pajamas. “Rafael was _just_ starting to stop giving her the cold shoulder. This is going to make everything worse!”

She’s right. Petra shoots off a quick text for Luisa to call her. And not to drink. And if she _does_ drink, Petra will personally kill her with her own two hands. Rafael is an idiot and will come around. She isn’t allowed to ruin almost a year of sobriety for him.

“Some first date,” Petra mumbles as Jane reaches for makeup removing wipes.

Jane freezes, her face half covered in foundation and half bare. “It wasn’t going that well before this either,” she admits quietly.

“Oh?” A silence falls between them and solidifies somewhere around Petra’s diaphragm, then—

“Yeah,” Jane sighs, continuing to wipe her face. “I think… I mean _now_ I’m _furious_ with him,” she waves at the nanny cam, resting on top of the bed. “But, before he got that text about the article, he was showing me a _house.”_

Petra doesn’t blink.

“A house that he wants to buy for us. Us and Mateo.”

Petra’s hands shake around her phone.

“Like, he sat there, smiling at me and telling me all about this house, and how we’d all live in it together,” her voice drops to an ashamed whisper. “And for a second, I almost considered jumping out of the car and running away,” she admits. “He is… at a _very_ different place than I am. I can’t _move in with him,_ ” she yanks at the remains of her hairstyle. Picking up a brush from the nightstand. It’s Petra’s. “What is he thinking? This was sort of our first date! I mean, I know technically that’s not true. And we’ve gone out before. And obviously this is a very unique situation but—” Jane trails off, pulling at her hair too harshly for a moment before wincing. “I’m _not_ at the same place as he is,” she sighs. “This was supposed to be a fresh start. Not ‘pick up where we left of and then jump _eight-hundred other steps_ forward.’ I just don’t get how he thinks that would be what I want.”

Petra hasn’t moved at all in the last five minutes that Jane has been talking. Now, she swallows and shifts against the headboard. “It’s because he wants a family,” she says, her voice low.

She’s always known this about Rafael. Even back when they first met, the hints of it were there. Playboy extraordinaire: just as lonely and desperate for love as Petra. It’s why she fell for him. The playboy shtick was hot and fun, but it wasn’t enough for Petra to fall in love.

The two of them were never happier then when Petra was pregnant. Rafael glowed as much as Petra did. The miscarriage might have even hurt him more than her. The only reason Petra had been happy about having a child was how happy it made Rafael. His excitement was contagious and comforting. She’d been _terrified_ of becoming a mother. (Still is.) The miscarriage was horrible, and painful, and terrifying, but—when it was over, Petra had felt a modicum of relief.

She _never_ told Rafael. Or anyone else for that matter.

“It’s all he wants,” Petra tells Jane. “The traditional family. All under one roof. Happy. Together. He never got it, and he craves it.”

“I know,” Jane says, setting aside the brush and crossing her arms. “But, you can’t _force_ that. I mean, how can he not see that after—” she clamps a hand over her mouth.

Petra arches an eyebrow. “After it blew up so spectacularly with the two of us?” she asks, a hint of amusement in her tone.

“I’m sorry,” Jane says immediately. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yes you did,” Petra waves her off and climbs out of the bed; waddling down the hall towards the bathroom with Jane right behind her. “It’s the truth. We both tried too hard to force something that… just wasn’t there. Or wasn’t meant to be,” Petra shrugs and closes the door on Jane. She relieves herself while continuing their conversation through the door. “I clung to something because I didn’t want to admit that it was over. And now I’m pregnant with twins. Rafael will either learn from the mistakes of our marriage, or he won’t. I don’t know what to tell you Jane.”

(She _wants_ to tell her that Rafael isn’t worth it. That Jane is better than him. To fill her head up with every terrible thing that Rafael has ever said or done to Petra as evidence. But, she knows Jane would only think of that as petty and cruel. Proof that Petra is as selfish and jealous as she feels. So, she swallows down her words and says nothing.)

Petra flushes the toilet and begins washing her hands. Jane opens the door as soon as the tap is turned on. “I don’t think it matters anymore,” she admits, reaching for her toothbrush. “I’m so furious with him I can practically _feel_ steam coming out of my ears. I can’t believe he is so insecure and petty that he would endanger Michael’s job like that. Then look me in the eye and lie to my face about it when I asked him straight out. The fact that we’re so different—it’s almost inconsequential if I can’t trust him.”

Jane stands beside Petra and brushes her teeth angrily. Petra, unable to think of anything else to say, reaches for her own toothbrush and joins her.

…

…

“He won’t even look at me,” Luisa moans through her tears. Petra sits beside her on the couch, Luisa half in her lap. Only deterred by the bulge containing her nieces. “I can’t believe I told that guy so much! I just… he was in a meeting! And I—that’s a sacred place! What kind of horrible person crashes an AA meeting and gets you to share and then _writes about it?_  I mean, I _know_ that I have a problem with keeping my mouth shut when people bring up Rose but, _why did I do that?_ Oh my god,” she starts wailing again. Petra pats her shoulder awkwardly. She’s certainly become more used to physical affection between living with the Villanueva women, and becoming Luisa’s friend, but she’s not exactly _comfortable_ with it nine times out of ten.

“Rafael will get over it.”

“No he _won’t,_ ” Luisa gasps. Her body shakes with sobs. Petra checked for bottles when she walked into the suite. She didn’t find any. “And now I can’t even go to a meeting without feeling like I can’t share. I _need_ that Petra. AA works for me. I need to be able to go, and I—” she breaks off into more uncontrollable sobs, holding Petra tightly around the middle. 

Petra grits her teeth and hugs Luisa back.

…

…

“I don’t want to hear it Petra,” Rafael says the minute Petra walks into his office unannounced.

Petra laughs harshly. “I don’t care,” she sits down opposite Rafael and very obviously places a hand on her stomach. Rafael’s eyes follow her movements and he sighs. “We need to talk about damage control. I don’t care about your feelings regarding your sister or Jane. _However,_ I would like to remind you that Jane was _also_ manipulated and gave Wesley information. A lot of it. So, if you’re hell bent on giving your sister the cold shoulder, you should do the same to Jane as well.”

“That’s not—this is _different,”_ he insists. “Jane doesn’t have a history of screw ups like this. She’s just—”

“Too trusting?”

“Yes,” Rafael twists his chair back and forth. “You get it.”

Petra nods. “I do. I also get that Luisa and Jane are quite similar in that respect.”

Rafael frowns at her, dropping the file he has in his hands down on the desk with a sigh. “Petra…”

“You can’t give Jane a pass for being too trusting and not give the same to your sister,” Petra says firmly. “If you hadn’t shut her out so completely, she might not have been so desperate to tell her side of the story when asked.”

“Are you _seriously_ blaming _me_ for—”

“I’m saying that there is plenty of blame to go around,” Petra cuts him off. “And that it’s been over a year since your father died,” her voice goes soft. As gentle as she can manage. “It’s not Luisa’s fault. _You know that._ She fell in love with someone Rafael. You of all people know how complicated feelings can be.”

“She _still_ talks to her and—”

“Do you honestly think she’s happy about that? Rafael, she’s miserable and alone. She doesn’t even have her license anymore. She’s got no job to distract herself. If she didn’t get lunch with me every day, and work on trying to find her mother with the police, she’d be drowning in alcohol right now and you know it.”

Rafael’s eyebrows pinch together. “Why do you care so much?” he asks Petra sincerely. “We were married for _five years_ and I think you maybe spoke to my sister for a cumulative of an hour in that entire time.”

“Yes,” Petra answers him. Because it’s the truth. “I don’t know what to tell you Rafael,” she shrugs. “I didn’t care before. Now I do.”

“For how long?”

“Excuse me?”

Rafael leans forward. “You care about Luisa _now._ You care about Jane _now._ But how long is that going to last?”

Petra bristles. She tries not to take the words inside, but they’ve already settled there. She wonders the same thing from time to time. Can’t help it. She sits across from Rafael, this man she once adored, and it just… slipped out of her. Almost without her knowing. One day, she woke up and the thought of Rafael didn’t make her smile anymore. The man himself still could, occasionally. But it never felt the same again, no matter how desperate she was to reclaim it.

Will that happen again? Will Petra wake one day and want to slap Jane away from her? Itch for her own space, and find Jane’s self-righteousness intolerable again? Will she listen to Luisa go on and on about the women she’s involved with and want to scream? Ignore her texts and calls until she gets the picture and leaves Petra alone?

Will it happen with her daughters too?

If it happened with Rafael, it’s possible it could happen with anyone. Maybe Petra’s love isn’t built to last. (Another reason to keep her feelings for Jane to herself.)

“I don’t know Rafael,” Petra finally answers. “I don’t think that matters right now. What _does_ matter is that your sister is one more good cry away from breaking her sobriety. And pretty much all of her guilt is about you right now. So you should talk to her. And you should blame the person who actually deserves it. The man who manipulated both Luisa _and_ Jane and wrote the article.”

Rafael lets out a sigh full of more emotions than Petra cares to count. He looks her in the eye for half a second, then nods. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Okay.”

“You’ll talk to her?”

He nods.

Petra stands up with some difficultly. “Good,” she says as she makes her way towards the door. “Don’t be an asshole. I’ll deal with the investors, you deal with the board,” she softens her voice as much as she can without wanting to scream. “This will blow over Raf.”

His expression changes. Petra, intimate and full of nearly six years of knowledge of Rafael’s facial expressions, has no idea what this one means. It’s softer than he’s directed towards her in years. “You’re different,” he says, almost more to himself than to Petra.

“No I’m not,” Petra insists. She shifts uncomfortably in the doorway.

“Yeah,” Rafael smiles at her. “You are.”

“Shut up,” Petra snaps, causing Rafael to laugh. She leaves the office, hating him just a little bit less.

She _hates_ him for that.

…

…

Jane is more distraught than Petra has ever seen her. Xiomara has Jane wrapped up in her arms on the couch, Alba on the other side. Both of them murmuring that everything is going to be okay, that they will figure it out.

Petra enters the room slowly; like she is approaching a wild animal. Alba notices her first and shakes her head before whispering: “Sin dinero de la matrícula.”

Petra frowns. “No tuition money?” she asks. “Why? I thought she won some—” she waves her hands around— “high profile grant.”

“Rogelio made it up,” Xiomara explains.

Petra chuckles, she can’t help it. She immediately turns it into a cough at Jane’s indignant glare.

“Vamos a pensar en algo,” Alba whispers to Jane. She nods back miserably as Alba rises from the couch and goes to get ready for bed. She has an early shift tomorrow. Xiomara rises a minute later, banging around in the kitchen and making some tea.

Petra stands there awkwardly, looking at Mateo in his playpen. The helmet has been off for a few weeks now. His head has been deemed normal and healthy. Jane cried then too. But those were happy tears. These tears, Petra’s even less equipped for.

“I can’t stay in grad school,” Jane say, miserably. “I tried to get a TA position—it would cover some of the tuition—but _Wesley_ got it.”

“What?” Petra sits down beside her, taking the spot Alba vacated.

“I _know,_ ” Jane scoffs. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been calling the Dean all afternoon. Emailing too. Which, I should probably send another one actually…”

Petra snatches Jane’s phone out of her hands.

“Petra!” Jane yells in protest. “Give that back!” she climbs up on the couch, practically lunging herself into Petra’s lap in an attempt to get the phone back. Petra pushes her away with one hand, and pointedly makes a comment about being pregnant while she scrolls through Jane’s phone. Xiomara laughs from the kitchen and Jane sulks. Shifting slightly so she’s not putting any weight on Petra’s stomach, she still tries to reach for the phone. “Petra,” she whines, “I need that.”

“You’ve left _fifty_ voice messages?” Petra gasps.

“Jane!” Xiomara yells. “You said you left _five._ And I thought _that_ was a bit much.”

“The message thing kept cutting me off!” Jane yells in protest. “It only gives you so many minutes. I had to fix some of the things I said!”

Xiomara walks back into the living room and places two mugs of tea down on the magazine stand in front of them. “I have to go to bed. Janie, we will figure it out tomorrow. Don’t call, text, or email anyone at the school again tonight okay?”

“But Ma—”

“Petra?” Xiomara looks to her, ignoring Jane’s protests.

“She won’t.”

Jane clucks her tongue. “I am an adult, and I’m right here.”

“I know honey,” Xiomara kisses the top of her head and walks out of the room. “Petra, hide her phone!”

Jane whips her head back around at Petra. “Don’t you dare. I’ll make you sleep on the couch,” she threatens.

Petra scoffs. “No you won’t. I’m six months pregnant.”

Jane sighs, slumping back into the couch and tugging a blanket over her legs before picking up the tea her mother left. “No,” she agrees miserably. “I won’t.” Jane leans her head back, not drinking the tea in her hands. There’s a tremor in her lip, despite her obvious attempts to quell it. “I’m sorry,” she says as tears begin to fall again. 

Petra suddenly feels the unmistakable urge to wrap Jane up in that blanket and press a kiss against her temple. It’s a strange impulse. Her feelings for Jane have never been tender in that way before. Tenderness, in general has never had much of a place in Petra's life. Sexual, definitely—when she's in the mood. Romantic, in some of her weaker, idealistic moments. But tenderness, has been severely lacking. It throws her off balance. She swallows, and shifts away from Jane, trying to shake the feeling off. Jane’s tears show no sign of stopping, and Mateo is beginning to shift in the playpen—no longer asleep. Petra bends down and lifts him up. It’s not easy. Previously simple movements such as bending down are no longer simple in the slightest. Petra grunts with the effort, rather unattractively. She prays that Jane takes no notice.

Not that she should worry, Jane is crying too hard to notice anything. Petra unceremoniously drops Mateo into her lap. “Here, cheer yourself up,” she orders.

Jane laughs through her tears and presses her face right up against Mateo’s cheek. He’s still sleepy and annoyed about it. But, so in tuned to his mother, he reaches up and swipes at her tears. Not happy about them at all. Petra watches as Mateo frowns before kissing Jane, then pulling back to see if he’s made her happy. When Jane laughs, he does it again. Something inside of Petra’s chest clenches painfully.

“Well,” her voice comes out in a croak. She clears it as she crosses her arms. “That’s a neat trick.”

Jane laughs again, her voice still hoarse. “Thanks Petra.”

Petra shrugs, shrinking into herself. Mateo keeps kissing Jane. Moving from one cheek, to the other, to a peck on her lips happily, before starting all over again. He’s giggly and getting too wound up to fall back asleep easily. “I’ll get his bottle,” she offers. Moving into the kitchen before Jane can respond. She takes the time to collect herself. Going through the motions of heating the bottle up and chugging down an entire glass of water before going back to Jane. She’s calmed him—and herself—down slightly, but there are still tears in her eyes.

“Thanks,” she says, taking it and giving it to Mateo.

There’s a guilty look on her face and Petra frowns. “You sent another email, didn’t you?”

“No,” Jane says, entirely unconvincingly.

“You, are a _terrible_ liar,” Petra sits down beside Jane and holds out her hand, palm up, waiting. Jane tries to protest and Petra pushes her hand closer towards Jane’s face. With an annoyed and defeated sigh, Jane hands it over.

“I just need them to hear me out,” she protests. “I’m being persistent. You like persistence!”

“I like persistence, not insanity.” Petra drops the phone into her bag, away from Jane’s reach. “Leaving well over fifty messages, emails, and texts, is _insanity._ Your mother is right; we’ll find an answer in the morning.”

Jane releases a sigh and the next thing Petra knows, her head is resting against Petra’s shoulder. “You’re right,” she whispers. “Thanks.”

Before Petra can let herself panic, or think about it too much, she drops a kiss to the top of Jane’s head. “You’re welcome,” she whispers back.

…

…

“What did you do?” Jane asks by way of greeting as she bursts into Petra’s office a day later.

Petra, quite sure she knows _exactly_ what Jane is referring to, merely raises her eyebrows. “Pardon?”

Jane gives her an incredulous face. “Don’t even try it,” she warns. “Wesley’s been kicked out of school! Something about receiving ‘an illuminating phone call pertaining to his character.’ My advisor said that I’ve been given his TA position. Also that it wasn’t just _my_ phone calls and emails that caused the Dean and the department to reconsider.”

“And so you assume that _I’ve_ done something?”

Jane nearly throws herself to the floor waving her arms around. She can tout all she likes about being mature, and calm, and rational, but her parentage is absolutely evident in moments like these. It’s far more comical (and adorable) then Petra ever thought possible.

“Yes,” Jane states, advancing towards Petra’s desk. “I _do_ think that you did something. You had that _look_ in your eye yesterday morning when you left for work.”

“What look exactly are you referring to?”

“Your, ‘I’ve got an evil Machiavellian plan look.’ The one I saw on your face before you got the neighbors to stop playing their music so loudly and drop the charges against me. The one you got when you convinced Luisa to give you her shares of The Marbella last year. Or when you tried to get Rafael arrested for domestic abuse. Or when you held Ivan hostage. Or—”

“Yes!” Petra cuts her off. “I’ve done many terrible things. I don’t need a reminder.”

Jane’s face softens in an instant. She sags down into the chair across from Petra’s desk. “That’s _not_ what I meant,” she says. Then, mutters: “Though… like, _obviously_ some of those things were Not Great Life Choices.” Jane straightens her shoulders and raises her voice back up to a normal level. “You got me the TA position.”

“No I didn’t,” Petra insists. “I just helped to make things more fair. _You_ got the TA position based on your own credentials.”

Jane’s face bursts out into a smile. So bright and warm, Petra returns it on instinct. She has to press her lips together to get them to stop. Or at least, not grin so wide. “ _Petra.”_

Jane says her name like a prayer. A hush in an empty room. Something to be revered. Petra can’t stand it for long. “The TA position gives you a salary,” she says, pulling herself together.

“Yes,” Jane nods. “But not enough of one to cover my tuition. That’s also why I’m here. Can you put me back on the schedule for my old shifts?”

“You want to be a waitress again?”

“Well, no,” Jane admits. “I don’t _want_ to. But I need the money. And, Mateo’s old enough now that I don’t need to be there every minute that I’m not at school,” she shrugs. “I mean, I won’t be able to pick up as many shifts as I used to. But…” she trails off.

Petra sucks in a deep breath, then—very slowly—releases it. “I can do that, if that’s what you want. But… I think there is a better solution.”

Jane shifts in her seat. “What?”

“I can pay the rest of your tuition,” Petra offers. She doesn’t look Jane in the eye. Lifting some papers and shuffling them around, she makes her voice as casual as she can possibly manage.

 _“What?”_ Jane gasps. “Petra, I can’t…” she shakes her head. “I can’t ask that of you. No.”

“You aren’t asking,” Petra says. “I’m offering.”

“Petra—”

“Jane, I have money. I was—eventually—well compensated in the divorce to Rafael. And I have my own shares of The Marbella from Milos, which, he has yet to try and claim back. I can help you pay your tuition.”

“Petra,” Jane looks down at her hands in her lap, voice cracking. “I can’t take your money. I said the same thing to Rafael when he offered. And I yelled at my dad for setting up this fake grant so he could pay in the first place.”

Petra swallows, absolutely unable to look Jane in the eye. “Rafael’s not your husband,” she all but whispers. She hears Jane’s head snap up, but she keeps her own gaze directly on a budget report. “I’m your wife.” Words they _never_ say to each other. Not really. Petra knows, they almost forget. All of them. Herself included. It’s not a _real_ marriage. (Except that it _is_ in the eyes of the law. Something Petra _never_ forgets.) Jane’s sharp intake of breath forces Petra to plow on. “It’s on your records, it wouldn’t seem odd at all to the school.”

“Petra…”

“I live in your home Jane,” Petra does look up now. Jane’s eyes lock with her own. “I’ve lived there for nearly five months. Rent free. The most any of you let me do is occasionally help with groceries. You _married_ me. Legally. To protect me from Milos and… it’s working. For god sake, I sleep in your bed. Let me do _something_ to repay you,” it comes out as a beg.   

Petra and Jane swallow and look away from each other at the exact same time.

“I…” finally, Jane speaks. “I don’t want you to _pay me_ for marrying you,” she says fiercely. Something in her voice cracks. When Petra looks up, the expression on Jane’s face is pained and unreadable. She presses her palms together tightly. “That’s _not_ why I did it,” Jane insists. “I’m not…” she sighs in frustration. “That makes my skin crawl. Petra, I get what you’re saying but, no. You don’t have to—I don’t _want_ you to do that.”

Both of them are silent for a moment. And then, Petra says quietly: “You have to let me do _something_.”

“You did,” Jane insists. “You got Wesley punished properly. You helped me get the TA position. And, you can give me my old shifts back.”

“That doesn’t compare to marrying me and letting me live with you,” Petra reminds her. Jane huffs in frustration. Petra presses on. “Let me pay for _some_ of it,” she pleads. Jane looks poised to argue, so Petra talks before she can shut her idea down. “If you let me cover this year, then you don’t have to worry about scrambling to catch up. You’ll have a cushion, and you won’t end school in mountains of debt.” Jane opens her mouth to protest. “ _And,”_ Petra adds, “then I’ll feel like I repaid you.”

“Petra…” Jane bites at her bottom lip.

“Please let me help Jane,” Petra asks quietly.

Jane sucks in a breath and doesn’t look up at Petra. She’s going to say no. She’s repeatedly refused money from Rafael and her father, even when it comes to Mateo.

“Okay,” Jane whispers.

Petra’s eyes snap up to Jane’s. “What?”

“Okay,” Jane repeats. “ _Some_. You can help with _some._ I’m getting a small salary/funding drop for being a TA. And I’m entering in this short story contest. There is a cash prize. And it’s good experience. _And_ I still want some of my old shifts back. And you can’t go crazy with it,” she orders. Petra scoffs but Jane frowns, pointing at her. “I mean it Petra.”

“Fine. It will be a small amount,” she agrees. (To start with.)

“Okay,” Jane says softly. Her expression turns almost unreadable again and the two of them just sit there. Looking at each other. Something about the moment feels like it should be larger, but also feels too huge for Petra to wrap her head around. It’s simultaneously awkward and easy. Jane breaks eye contact first. “So!” she leaps up out of the seat and trips, nearly falling to the ground. “I’d better get to work on my story. My professor’s already nixed two of my options. I’ll see you at home?” she’s out the door.

“See you at home,” Petra says to empty air. Confused as to what exactly just happened.

…

…

When Petra comes home late that night, she tip-toes inside. She and Rafael got caught up on a conference call with some of their investors over the ‘Curse of the Solanos’ nightmare. She assumes that everyone is already long asleep.

“Is that weird? Like a subconscious thing?” she hears Jane whisper. The voice is coming from their bedroom. Before Petra can step inside, she hears mention of her name. “Like, seeing Petra there… that’s not… I mean it doesn’t really _mean anything?”_

Petra hesitates by the door. She can’t hear another voice, so Jane must be on the phone with someone. The only person Petra can imagine it being is Michael. He and Jane have struck up their friendship where it left off—minus the making out. Everyone apart from Michael and Jane are skeptical about this, but so far, it seems to be true. Michael is even dating someone.

“I mean, we all know that I have an overactive imagination,” Jane says. “So, just because I’m writing a romance story for this contest, and when I wrote the hero saving the princess, I pictured Petra saving _me_ that’s not… I mean, it doesn’t necessarily mean anything other than… I’m grateful? Right? She’s sort of saved me more than once. And she’s my friend, and I tend to picture people I know in my stories. It’s not a totally new thing.” Jane sounds like she is trying to convince herself of this information.

Petra can’t breathe. She feels as though she’s holding herself to the surface of the Earth through sheer force of will. Whatever Michael’s response to Jane is, Petra isn’t privy to it. She tip-toes down the hall to the bathroom as quickly and quietly as she can.

By the time she slips into the bedroom, the lamp is off and Jane is either asleep, or pretending to be. Petra, heart racing so fast that Jane _must_ hear it, follows suit.

…

…

“Jane,” Alba chastises. “Gritaste a Santa Claus?”

“I know,” Jane moans.

Petra laughs. She can’t help it. Alba turns and gives her as much of a disapproving look as she just gave Jane. “Lo Siento,” she mumbles.

“He wants Mateo for Christmas,” Jane seethes. “He says that _it’s his day_ and that just because he’s _never_ cared about Christmas before, _now_ he does!” she paces back and forth in front of the kitchen table. “I can’t _believe_ him. This stupid therapy isn’t working! I want to punch him in the mouth!”

“Jane,” Alba says firmly. “Calma.” 

Jane nods, breathes out slowly. In and out. In and out. “Nope!” she declares, resuming her pacing. “Not working. I am not calma. No calma en todo. I mean, Petra, you get it.”

Petra, does _not_ want to talk about Rafael. Or whether or not therapy is working for them. Petra does not want to talk about Rafael in relation to Jane _at all._ Her feet hurt. She’s fatter than she’s ever been in her entire life. She has to pee _all the time._ And her mother keeps calling her from prison to try and guilt her into visiting for Christmas.

“I don’t care,” she snaps. Jane and Alba both look at her oddly, but Petra ignores them.

She hates Christmas.

…

…

When Petra is nine, Magda gets them a real Christmas tree. It’s pathetic. Too small. Branches broken and dying. And they don’t have a tree stand to put it in.

Petra loves it.

She spends two entire afternoons decorating it. Meticulously stringing together popcorn that she makes herself. (And burns.) Painting each string different colors with some old nail polish and paint she haggles from a neighbor. By the end of it, her fingers are bloody with pin pricks. And there is a mess of newspapers and paint on the floor.

But the tree looks fantastic.

When Magda comes home from work and sees it, she sighs. Petra is crushed by her disappointment. She cries in her room for over an hour until Magda hollers at her to come eat her dinner.

Petra sits sullenly at the small table. One knee propped up, eating as quickly as she can. After she chokes on her soup for the third time, Magda slams her spoon down and tells her to slow down.

“You tried,” Magda says. A softness to her voice that is never there. Not since that time she told Petra a bedtime story. “You tried to make it beautiful. It was a good effort. But, some things… can’t be made beautiful. No matter how hard we want them to be.”

Petra holds her spoon above her bowl, eyebrows knotting together in confusion. “But, Mama—”

“Eat your soup,” Magda orders. The harshness is back in her voice. No room for arguments. 

Petra eats her soup.

The sight of the tree in the light of the morning makes Petra want to scream. Her mother is right. It’s an ugly little thing. Impossible to dress up and call it beautiful. Its ugliness only grows with the sight of her presents underneath: new wool socks, a pair of trousers that won’t come down to her ankles, and an ugly neon green sweater. Petra tears the strings off of it till it’s bare, then goes to give her mother the present she’s saved up months for.

She does not cry.

They never bother with getting a tree again.

…

…

The Villanueva women have a fully decorated, lovely tree. There are ornaments that mean something. Small things, made of macaroni and paint that Jane (and Xiomara) made in school. Well loved things with chips and dents in them. Strings of lights with broken bulbs. Full to bursting with a history of their lives.

And, to top it all off, an angel that Alba brought all the way from Venezuela. Repaired, and dropped off by Michael and his new girlfriend, Natalie. Jane cries when he presents it to her. Throwing herself in his arms. Petra notices the same discomfort she feels fill up onto Natalie’s face. But she brushes it off and moves to hug Jane herself, clearly determined to be alright with their friendship.

Petra sits awkwardly beside Luisa all night long. She invited her at the last minute, surprising Jane. Thanksgiving had gone alright, as far as these things go, but Christmas is clearly a different animal to the Villanueva women. Plus, Luisa is Mateo’s aunt. And Petra knows that otherwise, she’ll be sitting alone in her hotel room. Petra’s not giving her an excuse to contemplate drinking. Not since she worked so hard to find her a very secretive AA meeting after the Wesley debacle. Politicians and famous actors attend. Luisa gives Petra all the dirt afterwards without mentioning names.

Rafael relents and allows Mateo to spend the night with Jane. As long as he gets him tomorrow morning. Petra doesn’t know what else went on in their last therapy session, but it seems to have cooled them both of.

A bit.

Petra inviting Luisa to Christmas dinner hasn’t helped _their_ relationship improve at all. She can’t bring herself to care.

“I have to leave early,” Luisa whispers to Petra once they start on desert.

“Why?”

“Raf and I are gonna make s’mores and commiserate over the fact that his mother is the actual drug lord. And mine is not, but really is dead,” Luisa shrugs. “We made s’mores on Christmas sometimes as kids. We thought it was funny. I’m really glad you invited me, but… he actually called me and offered, and I don’t want to…”

“I get it,” Petra says. She does. She just… wishes that she could keep Luisa as a buffer until she can feign needing to sleep. “I have a present for you before you go.”

Luisa beams at her. “Really?”

“Don’t make a thing about it,” Petra snaps. “It’s nothing.”

Luisa wiggles her eyebrows and sips her peppermint coco. “I’ve got a present for you too.”

There’s a knock on the door. Petra barely glances up as Xiomara signs for the package. Luisa is watching her closely. Petra is staunchly trying not to watch Jane.

“Petra,” Luisa whispers.

“What?”

“You know what.”

Petra bristles. “I do not.”

Alba cries out and everyone looks to her. “Es mi tarjeta de residencia,” she gasps. Everyone starts cheering. Petra watches as Jane and Xiomara hug Alba as tightly as they possibly can. All three of them are crying.

“Oh my god, it’s like a friggin Christmas miracle,” Xiomara says through her tears. Jane laughs and hugs Alba so tightly she wheezes through her own tears. Rogelio and Michael start to do a ridiculous dance, throwing pieces of napkin in the air as mock up confetti.

“I’m falling in love with Jane,” Petra admits in a whisper to Luisa.

Luisa smirks, looping her arm through Petra’s and lifting up on her toes to kiss Petra’s cheek. “I know,” she whispers back. A small box is pressed into her hands. “Merry Christmas Petra.”

“Petra!” Jane calls out. “Luisa! Come over here for a family photo!”

Both women momentarily freeze before being dragged over. Neither of them are accustomed to family photos. Natalie, good-naturedly and not seeming offended at not being included, offers to take the photograph. Petra finds herself squeezed between Luisa and Jane. Luisa’s arm doesn’t leave its place looped with Petra’s. Jane proudly holds Mateo up with one arm and clings to Alba’s shoulder with the other. But, her body is pressed right up against Petra’s. As close as one can get. And when Natalie announces that she’s got it from _all_ of their cell phones, Jane turns to Petra and beams.

She passes Mateo over to Luisa to say goodbye. Then Jane grabs a medium size box and presses it into Petra’s hands. “You don’t have to open it now.”

Luisa takes her time kissing Mateo’s whole face goodnight.

“Yours is under the tree,” Petra tells her softly.

Jane’s grin impossibly grows. “Merry Christmas Petra,” she says, slipping her arms around what she can reach of Petra’s middle.

“Merry Christmas Jane,” Petra whispers against her cheek.

Jane pulls back, and Petra shivers. Looking around the room as Michael and Rogelio continue performing some sort of interpretative, congratulatory dance to Alba. Xiomara and Natalie laughing and film it. Luisa hugs Jane goodbye and then smiles at Petra knowingly before slipping out to spend the rest of the night with her brother. Jane, Mateo in tow, turns to watch the ridiculous dance unfolding in front of the well loved, _beautiful_ Christmas tree. She laughs at one of her father’s moves, and turns her head, looking for Petra’s reaction. Her hand sticks out, waving Petra over to join them.

Merry Christmas indeed.


	8. you'll never get away from me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry for the delay yall, i had my asl final, and a job interview in boston! plus, anezka and rose not being dead in the finale kinda fucked up some of my plans. but, i think i've got what i want with them all sorted out now! susanna, is just susanna. and i _think_ i'm bringing anezka into it, but she will be wayyyy different than on the show.

Petra is panicking.

“I _hate_ you,” she hisses into her phone. “What kind of kurva stupidní idea was that!?”

“What?” Luisa asks. “That wasn’t English was it? Susanna looks really pretty right now; I’m not 100% paying attention to you.”

“You. Are. A. Fucking. Idiot,” Petra hisses.

“That’s mean,” Luisa chastises. “I’m paying attention now; you don’t have to swear at me in English or Czech. What did Jane say?” her voice grows excited. “Did she say yes?”

“Yes,” Petra mumbles, unable to keep the idiotic grin off of her face. She had stuttered and been more nervous than she could remember being in a very long time. _I thought we could get together… and eat!_ Unbelievable. Jane, had sounded a little confused, but agreed. Now, Petra wants to kill Luisa. Her _stupid, stupid_ plans.

“Yay!” Luisa cheers. “What are you gonna wear on your date?”

“It’s not—” Petra takes a deep breath “—it is _not_ a date. It’s a… lunch. We’re having lunch. We have lunch together all the time.”

“Yeah,” Luisa scoffs, “then why are you nervous?”

Petra bites at her bottom lip. Hard enough to draw blood. “Shut up,” she hangs up to Luisa’s laughter, bright and loud.

The idiotic grin won’t leave her face.

…

…

“Where is Petra? Where is Petra?” Jane sings to Mateo. “I don’t know, I don’t know,” she feeds Mateo something from a spoon. And Petra watches on, unable to stop the smile from spreading onto her face as she makes her way over towards them.

“Sorry I’m late,” she apologizes.

Jane’s face beams up at her as she scoots her chair over to make room for Petra. “That’s okay,” she reaches over and tickles Mateo a little. He giggles. “We were having a great time waiting.” Jane looks back up at Petra. “Even sang a song.”

“Really?” Petra grins.

“I will not be singing for you,” Jane insists. “I only sing to babies who can’t offer me any critique. And dogs.”

Petra laughs as one of the waitresses comes over and hands them some menus. Jane is saying something, but Petra can’t focus on her words, too enraptured with the way that Jane is waving her hands about and making faces, better to emphasize her points.

“Petra?” Jane asks, clearly having said her name more than once.

“Sorry,” Petra straightens as much as she can given her ever growing stomach.

“Are you okay?” Jane asks. “Are you nauseous?”

“I’m _always_ nauseous.”

Jane frowns, she’s done everything that she can possibly think of to alleviate Petra’s nausea over the last few months. But, Petra is—according to one complete bitch of a nurse— _just one of the unlucky few._ Petra had almost slapped her. Only Rafael anticipating this and grabbing her hand had stopped her.

“I can ask Lina to make you some peppermint tea, I think she’s working right now,” Jane offers.

“No, I’m fine,” Petra insists.

“Are you sure?” Jane’s worrying at her bottom lip, her rear hovering halfway above the chair, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice and find Lina.

“I’m sure,” Petra says firmly. “Let’s just eat.”

“Okay, but tell me if you change your mind.”

“I will,” Petra promises.

She spends the rest of the lunch listening to Jane go on and on about her thesis, and how her hot professor _still_ doesn’t seem to like her exactly so much, as tolerate her. She is working on charming him as much as she possibly can, she even offered to take his mother on Rogelio’s set to meet him. Petra bristles at the ‘hot professor’ moniker, but otherwise, nods and listens and hums at all the appropriate places.

She makes an utter fool out of herself. Everything about her feels awkward and tense, she drops her water glass twice; knocking it onto the floor and then into their food. Jane is lovely, and doesn’t mind, and keeps _smiling_ at her in such a way that Petra—

Petra is blinking too much.

And Jane is smiling. This small fond smile that Petra often sees directed at Mateo, but now, it… seems like it’s extended to Petra? She _does_ tend to look at Mateo first, so, more likely, it’s just lingering on her face, not _directly_ for Petra.

Is it?

Petra, Petra _knows_ what a date feels like. She _knows_ when someone is attracted to her. This, is _not_ a date, much as she would like it to be. But… Jane is—

It’s _not_ a date.

Petra is perfectly awkward and nervous and makes a fool out of herself anyhow. It’s the most ridiculous she’s felt in years.

By the time they have mostly finished their meals, the conversation has switched over to Petra’s dealings with the investors and The Marbella staff. She staunchly does _not_ mention the bouquet of yellow tulips that arrived at her office this morning, the first of the month, like clockwork. Petra hasn’t heard a word from Milos since he was deported, but she still sees Ivan pop up occasionally. He never does anything more than glower at her, enough to make Petra’s heart jump into her throat anyway. And the zasraný tulips still arrive each month, enough for Petra not to allow herself to grow complacent. Enough for her not to mention it and scare Jane, no matter that she promised that she would months ago, back when this whole damn thing started.

“Petra?”

“Hum? Sorry, I was—”

“Tired?” Jane grins “Come on, let’s get you home. You can lie down.”

Petra reluctantly allows Jane to help haul her up out of her seat. If her lower back didn’t hurt so much, she would never even consider it. She’s slapped Rafael and Luisa’s hands away often enough in the last month whenever either of them dared to try.

When they arrive home, Jane puts Mateo down for his afternoon nap and directs Petra to try taking one of her own. Petra scoffs at her indignantly, but then Jane’s hands are on her lower back, massaging her.

“What are you—” Petra squeaks. Then, a mortifying moan escapes her. “Oh my god.”

“Good right?” Jane says, thoroughly proud of herself. “Michael did this for me once when my back was killing me, and I almost had an orgasm.”

Petra freezes.

“Well,” Jane plods on, utterly unaware. “I mean I _think_ it was almost like an orgasm. Obviously, I could be wrong. I don’t know what one feels like. But it felt like what an orgasm _should_ feel like. And either way, my back felt great. Here, move over like this.” Jane gently pushes Petra so that she is on her side, Jane’s legs keeping her in place, Petra’s head basically in Jane’s lap.

Petra moans again. She’s in Jane’s bed—their bed, because they’re still _married_ —and now she’s in Jane’s lap, getting the world’s best massage and listening to Jane talk about orgasms.

She wants to die.

She falls asleep instead. She’s halfway there with Jane’s fingers continuing their massage and constant narration of her thoughts to Petra. She’s close, so close to the edges of sleep when Jane hums to herself and says, so softly that Petra isn’t sure if she’s dreaming: “That was fun today. You looked really pretty.”

…

…

Petra wakes up feeling better than she has in weeks. Her constantly aching back only twinging slightly as she shifts to more wakefulness.

It occurs to her, sometime between grumbling at the sun and yawning, that there is more room in the bed than there had been when she fell asleep. Petra yawns again and opens her eyes fully, sitting up partway to discover herself alone, the sunlight gently peeking through Jane’s blue curtains. Mateo isn’t in his crib. The house is quiet, and the spot beside her has been smoothed out and straightened, as if there was never anyone there at all. As if last night had been as normal as any other night in the last six months. It’s jarring and unwelcome. Petra huffs, and it comes out as a whine as she slumps back down onto the bed.  

Her phone rings, and she considers ignoring it for nearly a full minute before finally answering with a gruff, “What?”

“Will you accept a call from a Miami State Women’s Correctional Facility?” an automated voice asks. Petra freezes, suddenly very awake. Her mother hasn’t called her once. Petra’s gone to visit three times since Magda was arrested. Each time wishing that she were anywhere else.

Guilt is enough to make Petra press one and accept the call. “Mother,” Petra clears her throat, trying not to sound as if she’s only just woken up. The clock on the nightstand reads eleven-sixteen am.

“They’re letting me out, come pick me up in one hour,” Magda’s gruff voice barks out.

“What?”

“One hour. Don’t be late.”

The line goes dead.

Petra waddles as fast as she can down the hall and into the bathroom, barely making it before the nausea takes over.

She showers and dresses on autopilot, barely making any note of her movements. No one else appears to be home, but there is a hastily scribbled note in Jane’s loopy handwriting left on the kitchen table.

_Morning!_

_You seemed really tired so I turned off your alarm and let you sleep in. I texted Raf, he knows that you won’t be in till later. There’s some decaf coffee made that you can warm up, or make iced coffee with, and the bananas are ripe! Abuela bought more almond butter last night._

_See you later, J._

Petra smiles at the note, tucking it into her purse for no particular reason at all other than wanting to keep it. She chugs down the decaf coffee lukewarm, not bothering with ice or sugar, and slathers some almond butter onto a banana before running out the door to hail a taxi.

Petra paces back and forth outside the prison, biting at her nails; a habit she hasn’t partaken in since she was a teenager.

Finally, her mother emerges.

“What’s on your eye?” Petra squints, there’s a small dot, almost like a tear on the side of her mother’s face.

“Tattoo,” Magda explains, frowning at Petra’s stomach. “You’ve gotten fat.”

“I’m _pregnant,_ ” Petra snaps. “With _twins._ ”

“No excuse to let yourself go.”

Petra bites down on her tongue, hard. “The taxi’s waiting,” she climbs in before her mother can say anything else. Thankful to hear Magda huff and get in right behind her. “I can get you a room at The Marbella for now,” she says. Petra already texted Scott on her way over telling him to book something.

“For now?” Magda glares. “What do you mean, for _now?_ ”

“I don’t mean anything,” Petra insists.

“Don’t make a fuss, we’ll share your room.”

“Mother,” Petra keeps her gaze focused straight ahead. “I live with Jane remember?”

“That’s still going on?” Magda clucks her tongue. “Idiotic. Petra, you cannot rely on someone else to solve your problems. We will deal with Milos and Ivan on our own. That girl is not your friend.”

 _She is._ Petra wants to insist. The words on the tip of her tongue, begging to come out and fill up the air between them. Jane _is_ her friend; she believes that now. The last six months wouldn’t have happened otherwise. Instead, Petra swallows and bites her tongue, Magda won’t listen to her anyway.

“The police have an ongoing investigation,” she says instead. “Michael Cordero is working on it.”

“And?” Magda barks out a laugh. “What does he have to show for it?”

“Milos is in Ukraine. I haven’t heard from him.”

Magda tilts her head towards Petra, almost mockingly. “And Ivan?”

Petra slumps. “He leaves me yellow tulips every month,” she admits. “He’s still around.” No one else knows this, not Jane, not Luisa, not Michael or Susanna. There’s really nothing that Michael or Susanna can do about it, there’s never a note, and most likely, Ivan doesn’t deliver the flowers himself. He’s smarter than that. Petra doubts that if the police looked, they would be able to find any trace of them at all. Besides, sending flowers doesn’t break any laws, there is nothing they can do about it. Petra will only end up making Jane and Luisa anxious if she tells them.

Magda smirks, as if she’s known this all along, and somehow, Petra is unsurprised.

“We come up with plan,” Magda says with a firm nod. “I get rid of bastard.”

Somehow, all the anxiety and worry about her mother’s reappearance in her life melts away with those words. Her mother is going to help. Petra knows, from past experience, this shouldn’t exactly comfort her the way that it does, and _yet._

“Alright Mother,” Petra agrees. It feels like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders.

Petra checks her mother into the hotel, and the two of them order a late lunch and spend the afternoon coming up with a plan.

Petra unwittingly ignores texts from Luisa, Rafael, and Jane. By the time she is aware of the unread messages on her phone, it’s nearly 10pm. Jane’s latest texts are boarding on frantic. Petra curses under her breath and quickly informs Jane that she is alright, and sleeping at The Marbella tonight.

_Why? Where have you been all day? Raf and Luisa both haven’t heard from you either?_

Petra sighs, unsure how to explain about her mother’s sudden reappearance via a text message. It seems cruel. Lying about it seems worse. Petra slips into the bathroom while her mother makes herself comfortable in the large bed, and dials Jane’s number. She picks up instantly.

“Petra? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine Jane,” Petra says calmly.

“Well I haven’t…” Petra hears Jane suck in a breath and redirect herself. “You don’t totally sound okay. Is it…”

“The twins are fine. _I’m_ fine. It’s just…” Petra has never been delicate in her life. She doesn’t know how to mince her words. No matter how she says them, they’re not going to make Jane feel any differently about the matter. She might as well just get on with it, like ripping off a band aid. “My mother has been released from jail,” she says matter-of-factly. “I’ve put her up at The Marbella. And I’m staying with her tonight.”

Jane is silent for a few beats and then Petra hears her breathe in and out, slowly. “She’s out?” There’s accusation in Jane’s voice, strained and trying not to come out, but there clear as day all the same.

“Yes,” Petra says quietly. “I’m not… it’s something about overcrowding I think. I didn’t know until she called me this morning to come get her, otherwise I would have told you sooner.”

“And you’re—you’re staying with her?” There is a lit to Jane’s voice that Petra can’t figure out, but, the disappointment is apparent. Petra swallows, she’s not thrilled about it either.

“For tonight,” Petra explains. “I didn’t realize how late it got, and I’m exhausted.”

“Oh… well… okay,” Jane finally says. “I’ll… I should be the one to tell Abuela.”

“I can, if you want me to,” Petra insists.

“No, it should be me. Thanks though, for offering.”

Petra nods, then remembers that Jane can’t see her. “Of course,” she croaks out. “I didn’t… I’ll make sure my mother stays away from her.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Petra can’t help but think that only last night, she was falling asleep in Jane’s lap, after spending a wonderful, if embarrassing and nerve wracking afternoon together.

And now—

“I’m sorry,” she says in a whisper. For what exactly, she’s not sure. Everything perhaps.

Jane sighs. Petra can picture her, resting against the headboard, worrying at her bottom lip, and looking over at Mateo to make herself feel better. “Petra, she’s your mom. I don’t… I don’t like her, but I get it.”

“She’s got some ideas, about Milos and Ivan,” Petra admits. She can feel the shift in Jane’s attention immediately.

“What? _Why?_ They’re not…” she trails off in frustration. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Petra insists. “Just, Ivan is still around.”

“But, has he done anything? Has he—why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because nothing’s happened. He’s just around. I get the flowers every so often,” Petra finally admits, trying to make light of it. “That’s it.”

“You’ve been getting the flowers?” Jane sounds on the verge of a panicked rant, Petra quickly tries to mollify her and shut it down. It doesn’t take. “ _Petra,”_ she interrupts, “you have to tell me if that happens! You have to tell Michael! Does he know?”

“Jane, he’s busy with Sin Rostro and you know it.” Petra sucks in a breath, suddenly annoyed with Jane’s _you have to do this,_ or, _you have to tell me that._ She is an adult. She’s nearly seven years older than Jane. She doesn’t _have_ to do anything. “My mother has a plan. Just… don’t worry about it.”

“Petra, your mother is—”

“Is my _mother,”_ Petra snaps. “Just leave it Jane.” She hangs up before Jane can respond. The twins choose this moment to kick her violently—a new in utero trick they’ve picked up. “Don’t start with me,” Petra directs towards her stomach. “Your brains are barely developed; you’ve got no idea what’s going on.”

One of them kicks again. Petra sighs.

…

…

Milos has struck up an arms smuggling business in Ukraine. How her mother comes across this knowledge, Petra doesn’t ask. All that matters is that Ivan shows up and leaves them with boxes full of grenades. Threats of exposing them as kidnappers enough to keep their mouths shut and the hotel suite door constantly locked.

Petra slowly begins to avoid everyone. She sends off halfhearted texts fending off Jane, Luisa and Alba’s concerns. She spends as much time at The Marbella, and in her mother’s room as she possibly can. She only stops in at the Villanueva household when she knows none of the women will be home to change her clothes. Or when it’s late enough that all of them will already be asleep.

Jane wakes up every time Petra slips into bed. No matter how quiet and careful she is, Jane rolls over, half asleep and annoyed about it, fumbling for Petra’s hands and whispering one question after another about what’s going on.

 _Nothing._ Petra insists each time. _Working late, go back to sleep._

Jane frowns and rolls away from her again each time, clearly angry and unconvinced. Petra feels like cheating wife covering up an affair. It’s ridiculous.

Thankfully, Luisa is wrapped up in her blossoming flirtation with Susanna Barnett and finding her own mother to have too many concerns about Petra’s.

Rafael notices Petra shuffling the majority of her work load onto him, but for once, he doesn’t say a thing about it. Petra can’t decide if she’s more grateful or angry.

Ivan keeps showing up with more news from Ukraine. Milos has big plans to come back to America. To marry Petra.

“I’m already married,” Petra reminds him smugly. “Not to mention pregnant with another man’s children,” she motions to her stomach, Ivan’s eyes already beating her to it.

Magda rolls her eyes at the gesture, but nods from beside Petra. “Tell Milos to stick a grenade up his ass.”

Ivan gets in her face instead, his voice low and threatening, warning her just how long one could spend in prison for kidnapping. Magda chases him out while Petra tries not to look too frightened.

“The boy is idiot, ignore him,” Magda scoffs.

“There are _grenades_ in our room Mother,” Petra says, near hysterical.

“Not for long,” Magda shrugs. “Plan will work.”

The _plan_ is more idiotic than Ivan. Petra barely listens to her mother as she lays it out and makes calls to new friends from prison. She simply parrots her lines over the phone as her mother dictates and prays that the universe is on her side for _once._

…

…

They dump the grenades into the Atlantic Ocean in the middle of the night.

Petra, unable to really believe that this is her life, but somehow unsurprised, is dirty and exhausted and squatting down to rest when her mother accidentally sets off the last grenade.

She loses and eye and an arm. Petra can’t help but think that a peg leg is somehow coming next, she has no idea how, but it feels almost inevitable.

When Ivan finds out he is furious, but when he looks at Magda he laughs and laughs and laughs. “Oh, I needed that,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye. “But, do not think that a good laugh excuses this,” he warns.

Petra looks down at her phone, Jane’s tried to call her four times.

…

…

“I have to go down to my office,” Petra tells her mother the next morning. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Magda waves her off and chomps on a pickle, using her hook to stab through it. Petra grimaces and heads down to work.

Luisa accosts her as Petra tries to sneak back up to her room nearly three hours later. Petra feels guilty for avoiding everyone, so, she spends twenty minutes listening to Luisa tell her all about Susanna and her mother’s investigation. Susanna pretended to be Luisa’s wife to help get her into a nursing home, but it was the wrong woman. They’re back at square one. Worse, there is a good chance that Luisa’s mother actually _is_ dead. But, at least if she’s dead, it means she probably wasn’t a crime lord.

There isn’t much that Petra can do about any of this, so, she just listens. It seems to do the trick. Half an hour goes by and Petra can’t help shifting her weight from standing in the hall so long, and Luisa tells her to go lie down.

Petra waddles her way back up to her mother’s room and opens the door without knocking. “Mother, it’s me. Did you—”

Petra screams.

Her mother is standing over Ivan’s body, her hook slips out of his neck with a terrible squelching noise, and Petra bends over and vomits.

She has no time at all to react, Ivan is dead. There is no calling 911, no saving him. When Petra moves to call the police, claim self-defense—as her mother insists that it was—her mother slaps the phone out of her hand, then slaps Petra.

“What are you thinking?”

“Mother, we have to… there is a _dead man in your hotel room._ We have to call the police.”

“I just got out of jail, you think they will believe self-defense?”

“It’s _true!_ Isn’t it?”

“Of course it’s true. Go get me some ice and tuna. We bury the body later tonight.”

“ _What?_ Mother—” Petra is shoved out the door as quickly as she came into it only moments before. Her mind is whirling, she moves over towards the ice machine on autopilot, shoveling as much ice as she can stuff into two buckets.

“Petra?” Jane’s voice calls out from behind. Petra freezes. Quickly schooling her face and grabbing the buckets before turning around. “Hi,” Jane pushes a sleeping Mateo forward in his stroller, clearly just having picked him up from Rafael for the afternoon. “I haven’t seen you in days.”

“I know,” Petra desperately hopes that her voice sounds normal. She can’t stop hearing the sound her mother’s hook made as it slipped out of Ivan’s neck. “I’m sorry, my mother has been… adjusting.”

“How did that thing with the hook happen?” Jane asks, reaching down to grab the ice buckets for Petra as soon as she’s close enough. Petra halfheartedly protests, but they are very heavy, and Jane has them in her hands and is nudging her towards Mateo’s stroller before she can even get a word out.

“Oh… um, freak accident. She wanted to set off some fireworks.”

“What? With you right there? Petra… you could have…” Jane’s gaze trails down towards Petra’s stomach, and she merely shrugs. Jane frowns at her. “You’ve got to take care of yourself. Setting off fireworks on a boat doesn’t really seem like the greatest idea for a woman who is six months pregnant.”

Petra reaches over and grabs the ice buckets away from Jane, a little more roughly than she intends. “I can take care of myself,” she snaps.

“Petra… I didn’t mean…”

Petra interrupts her. “My mother’s waiting for me.”

Jane looks about five seconds away from arguing, but then she deflates against Mateo’s stroller. “Okay,” she says softly. “What time are you coming home tonight?”

Petra pictures the hook sliding out of Ivan’s neck. The terrible squelching noise accompanying it, and all of the blood they are going to have to get rid of. She bites the inside of her cheek as hard as she can to keep herself from crying and telling Jane everything. She would never, ever understand.

“I… think I might sleep here tonight. My mother’s not feeling well.”

“Oh,” Jane almost looks disappointed. Petra can’t imagine why; she finally has her bedroom to herself again. Petra would have thought that Jane would be thrilled with how often she’s been staying at The Marbella. “Well… I hope she feels better,” Jane finally adds. It’s not particularly convincing; Jane is a terrible liar.

“Thank you.” The ice is melting. Petra is going to have to get at least two more buckets. Her mother is probably in a rage wondering where the hell she is. Petra backs away from Jane. “See you later.”

“Um… tomorrow?” Jane asks. “You’ll be home tomorrow right? Especially if you’ve said that Ivan’s been around… it’s easier for Michael to put a protective detail on our house than the entire Marbella.”

“Yeah, okay,” she slips through the door, not letting Jane see into it. “Bye Jane.”

“Bye!” she hears Jane call through the door. Petra waits against it for a moment, listening to Jane pace back and forth for a moment before finally walking down the hall.

“Petra!” her mother yells, grabbing the ice buckets. “We need more than that! And get me tuna!”

She goes back out the door.

…

…

Petra somehow manages to get herself down onto her knees and scrub the floor of Ivan’s blood while he sits in ice in the bathtub. Every single part of her body hurts, but she scrubs until her own knuckles bleed.

By the time it’s dark enough out, they’ve got the hotel room as spotless as they can get it, and Ivan is out of the bathtub and sitting propped up in a wheelchair. His clothes dry enough so as not to look suspicious (three hotel blow dryers), a scarf around his neck, Petra’s foundation smeared onto his face, and a cheap pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap snug on his head. The bathtub is draining and a _do not disturb_ sign hung on the doorknob.

They’re off.

Petra uses the wheelchair to keep herself upright; her back is killing her. Every step forward feels like someone is going to reach out, stop them, and yell: _what are you doing? How dare you?_ Petra’s breath comes too short and fast and she has to sit down while Magda shoves Ivan’s body into the backseat of the car Rafael bought her the first year they were married. Petra almost never drives it. She doesn’t drive anything if she can help it. She often forgets that it’s even an option.

“Snap out of it,” Magda orders and climbs into the passenger seat.

Petra, achingly pulls herself together and shoves herself behind the wheel, her belly protruding uncomfortably. She breathes in and out. _She can do this._ There isn’t really another option at this point. They’ve come too far. If they had called the police, Michael, _anyone_ right as it happened, they could have pleaded self-defense, but _now._

Now, Ivan is ice cold and blue and starting to smell like tuna. There’s no pretending that they haven’t done anything wrong. The wrong thing has happened, now, they just have to get on with it.

Petra drives.

It takes hours to tug Ivan out of the car and dig a hole deep enough to shove him in. Petra is dirty and every part of her body is sweaty and in pain. The twins continuously kick out almost in protest as Petra pulls shovelful after shovelful of dirt from the Earth.

“Mother,” Petra whines. “I can’t do it all myself.”

“I have a hook on my hand Petra. And _one_ eye.”

“And I’M PREGNANT!” Petra yells.

Magda hushes her immediately, and Petra deflates, looking around in a panic in case anyone happens to come by this empty field and hear her yelling. No one is there. It’s just Petra, her mother, and a dead man.

Petra continues shoveling.

When the hole is (finally) deep enough, they roll Ivan into it unceremoniously. Too exhausted to give him any amount of gentleness or respect, whether he deserves it or not. Petra pants, sitting down and trying to conjure up the strength to fill the hole back up. She can’t imagine it. She might never be able to get up from this spot. But, her mother looks at her from the opposite side of the hole. Petra can’t discern her expression; it softens in a way that it hasn’t for years and years. They both breathe, staring at each other, a hole in the Earth and a dead man laid out between them. One of the twins kick, and Petra can’t imagine it—ever being inside of Magda. It seems impossible that she would let Petra be that close to her for nine whole months. Magda’s eyes go down to Petra’s stomach, and it’s almost as if she’s thinking the exact same thing; bewildered that it was a thing that happened to her. That Petra is a part of her. Or, was. _Is?_ Petra isn’t sure anymore. She clenches her fists into the dirt, refusing to touch her stomach. The twins don’t feel like a part of her. It’s baffling to think that soon, there will be two people, alive, outside in the world and currently, they are growing inside of Petra—literally a part of her.

What if they never feel like they are? Petra keeps waiting and waiting for it to happen, but, it hasn’t yet. She looks over at her mother again. Magda shifts uncomfortably. Under Petra’s gaze or because she’s sitting in the dirt, it’s impossible to tell. Both probably.

“Come,” she orders, her face hard again as she rises and picks up a shovel. “We still have work to do.”

Petra hauls herself up to her feet, and fills in the hole.

…

…

In the early hours of the morning, they shuffle back into Magda’s room, bone tired. Petra sits down at the kitchen table, considering whether or not to have breakfast; she's hungry, but under the circumstances, it seems vulgar to do anything about it. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees Ivan’s body rolling down into the dirt. It takes her three hours to eat scrambled eggs, spinach, and avocado. Her mother snores from the bedroom the entire time.

Petra tries to sleep, but she wakes in fits with Ivan’s face always, always there. Bloated and angry. The terrible squelching noise of the hook coming out of his body, or the thud as he hit the dirt, ringing out over and over in her ears.

Petra vomits up her breakfast, and she can’t bring herself to force down lunch. She digs around in the medicine cabinet and finds some melantonin tablets. (Jane had gotten them to help Petra sleep a few weeks ago.) She swallows an extra dose and lays down, praying for dreamless sleep.

…

…

Petra goes from halfheartedly avoiding everyone, to absolutely avoiding everyone.

Jane’s voice mails and texts after Petra (agonizingly) refuses to pick up Alba’s calls grow angrier and angrier with each new unanswered text. Xiomara leaves one terse voice mail ordering Petra to pick up the goddamn phone when her daughter and mother call and nothing else. Except also, she borrowed Petra’s green top and she won’t be returning it until Alba and Jane stop pacing around and worrying about her.

In between the Villanueva women, Luisa won’t stop trying to get a hold of her. Her texts and voice messages are much less forceful and frustrated than Jane’s, but still leave Petra feeling hollow.

Evan Rafael seems worried. He asks Petra when her next doctor’s appointment is, marking it down in his calendar. “Are you getting enough sleep?” he asks. “Jane told me that she got you some melantonin? Have you been taking that?”

“I’m fine Rafael,” Petra snaps.

“It’s just… Jane seems worried,” he broaches cautiously. “So does Luisa. I just wanted to—oh, wait Jane’s here, she wants to talk to you.”

Petra panics as she hears him pass over the phone. “I’m _fine,_ ” she insists before Jane can speak. The words sound like a lie even as they fall from her lips; there is no way that Jane believes her. She knows, it's there in her voice. Jane starts talking, too fast, her words jumbling together in anger and frustration and worry. It's far too late, because Jane sounds miles and planets and universes away. She hasn’t sounded like this since Petra tried to get full custody of Mateo to get back at Rafael. God, it feels like a lifetime ago.

“Petra,” Jane says angrily. “I _know_ that you’re not okay. Stop lying to me,” her voice softens, sounding like what Petra has grown used to. “Please, just tell me what’s going on. I can help.”

Magda walks into the room, looking completely unbothered by the fact that she murdered and buried a man not four days ago. Petra hates her. Hates her like she never has before in her life—only for a moment. She did it to protect Petra after all. She did it _for her._

“Jane, I don’t know what to tell you. I’m fine,” she hangs up and goes to sit beside her mother.

Magda pats her knee. “No one cares about Ivan,” she says gruffly. “He was bastard. He died like bastard. Pull yourself together. You’re acting too suspicious; your friends know something is wrong. You must act normal, then everything will be fine.”

 _Fine_. The most useless word in the English language. Petra watches her mother move away from her, in search of some food. Her hand rests overtop her stomach, of its own free will. _Everything is going to be fine._


	9. nice, she ain't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes, sorry this one took so long. as i was writing, a few more plot things ended up changing and i had to rearrange some things in my outline. it took a little longer to lock down than i wanted, and then, my family went on vacation! i didn't bring my laptop and i didn't write a single thing. i just went to the beach and ate lobster rolls and lots of s'mores and got a sunburn. it was great! 
> 
> updates will be more regular, promise. i'm _hoping_ to crank the rest of this out for camp nano for july. but there are a few other fic things i'm working on too, so no promises other than more regular updates. 
> 
> also, i've got no idea how detective stuff or the law works, pretend it could all go down like this. it's unimportant in the grand scheme of things. petra and jane's emotions are all that really matter here.

_I’m okay_ Petra repeats to herself, like a mantra. _I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay._ Except for the fact that she sees the ghost of a dead man following her everywhere.

She’s not okay; she’s really, really not.

Petra continues to tell herself that she is anyway, despite the fact that she is no longer fooling anyone. Not even herself.

Magda snaps and hisses for Petra to _pull yourself together for the love of god._

Luisa frowns and watches silently, pressing food and water into Petra’s hands. She doesn’t prod. Doesn’t ask. For that Petra is more grateful than she could ever imagine, that she finally decided to let this woman be her friend. That Luisa understands somehow, that Petra can’t talk about it. Can’t explain.

But, Luisa still watches, and she frowns at Petra more often than not. She won’t just quietly pass her food forever.

Xiomara is back to glaring angrily at Petra whenever they occupy the same room together. And some of Petra’s favorite clothes mysteriously disappear and wind up on Xo’s body, almost flauntingly. A dare. For the first time in her life, Petra refuses to take it.

Jane goes from casually worried to hovering in what feels like a single day. After Petra’s fifth or sixth attempt to tell Jane that nothing is wrong, she scoffs at Petra loudly. Not buying it for a second, and annoyed and worried all at once. She focuses all of her energy on trying to keep Petra hydrated, and fed, and she keeps saying _I’m here if you want to talk_ with a pointed eyebrow raise. Petra feels both unwanted and coddled, so she makes sure that her feet thump audibly on each step after Jane offers up their bedroom for her to take nap.

Alba doesn’t ever stop asking if Petra is alright, but her questions are less probing and blunt than her granddaughter’s; an eyebrow raise here, a mug of tea with hands that squeeze tightly for a moment, a small shoulder rub in passing. When Petra is so beyond exhausted that she physically can’t get herself up off of the couch, Alba sits beside her and starts singing a lullaby in Spanish towards her belly, an arm draped lightly around Petra.

She sobs.

No one else is home to see, and thank god, or Petra might confess everything right then and there. Too weak in this moment to resist Jane’s constant worrying demands.

Alba holds her, and sings. Petra loves her in this moment, fiercely.

She wakes the next morning with a blanket draped over her, still on the couch, Alba and Jane moving around the kitchen as quietly as possible. Petra waits for a moment, not wanting to get up and face either of them just yet.

“Jane, no. Dejarla sola por ahora.” Petra hears Alba say. There is a note of finality to it, and true enough, Jane remains silent. Petra can feel Jane’s gaze on her, itching to come over and ask her again, _what is going on? How can I help? Please, please just talk to me._

But she obeys her grandmother. She is gone by the time Petra gets out of the shower.

Jane goes from worried and frustrated that Petra won’t just _talk to her_ to righteous fury. She stops asking Petra what is wrong, just huffs around the house angrily, adamant in her refusal to say a single word to Petra until she explains what is going on. Her dramatic cold shoulder is announced the night after Petra falls asleep sobbing in Alba’s arms, a week after Petra helps her mother bury Ivan’s body.

“Will you _please_ just talk to me?” Jane asks, defeated.

“Jane,” Petra can’t get around Jane to the bed, she’ll dodge. Jane has much more agility than Petra at the moment. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she says, again.

“You know what, _fine,_ ” Jane throws her arms up, her face scrunching up in anger. “You don’t want to talk to me about it, _fine,_ but don’t lie to me Petra. _Obviously_ something is wrong with you. _Everyone_ who spends more than two minutes with you can tell. Lina even texted me yesterday to ask what was up with you! Practically half The Marbella staff is wondering at this point. Have the decency to just tell me that you don’t want to talk about it with me.”

“I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT WITH YOU,” Petra screams. Her voice cracks and Jane blanches.

She is _not_ going to start crying again. Ivan is _not_ sitting in Jane’s rocking chair, taunting her. He is in the ground. Petra put him in there herself. And now it is ruining _everything._ Petra helped to dispose of a _body._ A man that her mother killed. This… this isn’t covering up for pushing Alba down the stairs. This is so much worse. This is something so terrible that Petra has never hated herself more in her life. This, is unforgivable.

This will cause her to lose Jane forever.

“ _Fine,”_ Jane snaps back, hurt all over her face. She stalks over to their bed and yanks the covers back so harshly they almost come right off altogether. “We don’t have to talk at all then.”

“Good,” Petra growls, following Jane—much more slowly—into their bed. Jane looks aghast, as if she were sure that would finally cause Petra to give in. She rolls away from Jane. “We don’t have to talk at all then.”

“Fine,” Jane repeats, her voice teary.

Petra closes her eyes and tries to breathe. She was wrong. Burying Ivan wasn’t the worst thing she’s ever done, this is.

…

…

The day that Petra comes to America, she vomits on her mother.

Their final plane is tiny and there is so much turbulence that Petra thinks they are going to all die. When the plane finally, _finally_ hits the ground, Petra can’t hold in her fear anymore; she spills it out all over her mother’s lap.

Magda screams in disgust and horror and tries to claw her way out of the seat. Petra starts sobbing and apologizing over and over. “Omlouvám se! Omlouvám se,” she cries, Magda swatting her away as a flight attendant orders her to stay in her seat until the plane stops moving.

It’s a memorable introduction to a new country.

Miami is _loud_ and _hot_ and everyone speaks so quickly. Petra, who has had _in English, practice in English_ beat into her head since she was fourteen struggles to make out half of the conversations happening around her. Not only are people speaking in English, they’re speaking in Spanish as well.

“Why didn’t we go to Boston or something?” Petra mumbles, sitting on top of an itchy blanket in a Motel 6, trying to make a vending machine candy bar last as her dinner.

“Pompous assholes,” Magda grunts. “Plus, this flight cheaper.”

Petra frowns, for all of the _in English_ she spouts, Magda hardly ever bothers herself. Not to do it properly. It’s not fair.

“It’s hot here,” Petra complains.

“It’s hot everywhere. That’s why they call it global warming.”

Petra flops down onto her back. She thinks there might be fleas on the blanket, something bit her earlier for sure.

Magda turns around and sighs. “We go to beach tomorrow,” she offers. “Swim.”

“Really?” That perks Petra up.

“Bring violin, lots of people at beach.”

Petra slumps back down.

In the end, she never gets the chance to swim. She plays and plays and plays until her fingers start to bleed. Just getting enough money to pay for another night at the motel. Not enough for a real dinner.

It’s the same the next day, and the next. A week into America, and Petra hates the entire country. Her songs are too slow, too sad. No one in America wants to pay money to be sad. They want the boy down the street who can record himself on a loop and jump around with an upbeat number. America wants loud, and fast, and happy. Something that they can jump around and dance to. Prague wants tradition and melancholy stories about their days of glory. Something that they can to toast to.

Petra wants neither. She just wants to swim in the ocean.

It doesn’t matter either way, Magda finds Lachlan. The violin and the ocean are both abandoned.  

…

…

Mateo won’t stop crying. Jane goes on and on about sleep regression and other things that Petra doesn’t care about. She is beyond exhausted. The whole house is, Petra isn’t the only one snapping and on edge from lack of sleep. Xiomara looks ready to kill someone herself.

Jane refuses to let him cry as Alba suggests. She climbs out of their bed each time he cries and rocks him, waking Petra in the process.

“Shush, Mateo,” Jane whispers. “Come on baby, you’ll be happier if you sleep. I promise.”

Petra groans and tries to cover her ears with her pillow.

“I’m _trying,_ ” Jane snaps at her.

They only speak harshly to each other now, if they speak at all. Petra shut Jane out and in return she hardened herself right back, as angry and righteous as when Petra first met her. Petra hated her then. She hates her now. Sometimes.

“Try _harder,_ ” she hisses. When something hurts Petra, she hurts it right back. She refuses to give herself over to it. Jane is no exception.

Jane rocks Mateo and looks over at Petra like she expects her to be _better_ than that, or something, and she's not, she's really, really not. She's not better than that and she never has been. She's selfish and she's a bitch, and just, why hasn't Jane managed to figure that out by now? Everyone else has.

Mateo’s cries grow louder and Petra wants to strangle him; she probably deserves the lack of sleep at this point.

…

…

“Okay, seriously?” Rafael asks, “what is going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Petra tries to say, again.

“No, come on Petra. Don’t pull that.” He points to the monitor beside her, the one showing her excessively high blood pressure. “Even if that thing didn’t tell everyone that something’s not right, I know you better than that. You’ve been walking around jumpy and mean for the last two weeks. Jane is a frazzled mess, and the fact that she’s not here too tells me that something is definitely wrong.”

“She has class,” Petra defends, just as her phone dings with a new message. “See, this is her now, asking how the appointment is going,” she holds up her phone to his face as proof. “We’re fine.”

Rafael frowns at her. “Really? That’s why she’s been in my office asking me if I know what’s going on with you three times this week?”

“Rafael, we’re allowed to be annoyed with each other and want our own space aren’t we?”

“Yeah, sure. But this doesn’t feel like that. Luisa’s worried too. So am I.”

Petra sags on the table. She is _so tired._

“Petra,” Rafael’s hand rests gently on her shoulder. “Whatever it is, it’s affecting the babies now. Affecting your health. You don’t have to tell me but you should tell _someone._ I can call—”

“My mother killed Ivan,” Petra blurts out. Rafael freezes. “She… said it was self-defense. I didn’t—I wasn’t there. I came in… after. And she… she was afraid to call the police and we buried the body. Rafael it all happened so fast and I just…” Petra starts sobbing. Rafael’s arms are around her in an instant, holding her as tightly as he can manage.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’ll be okay.”

“No it won’t!” Petra protests. “We should have just called the police right away! I’m not sure she really did it in self-defense. I mean, she might have. She probably did, but—”

“Petra, it will be okay,” Rafael promises. “I’ll call my lawyer. We’ll figure this out together okay?” 

“You can’t tell Jane!” Petra shoves him away in a panic. “She won’t… Rafael you _can’t,_ ” she pleads.

“Petra…”

“Please.”

Rafael sighs and pulls out his phone. “We don’t talk to anyone,” he agrees. “Not until we’ve talked to my lawyer.”

He calls and sets up an appointment, Petra tunes him out. She looks down at her phone, still showing Jane’s messages.

**(1:12pm)** _Are you taking notes?_

**(1:12pm)** _actually, you should just record it on your phone and I’ll listen to it when you get home._

**(1:13pm)** _there’s an app you can record on. I think it’s built in. but if not, download this one from the app store before you go in._

**(1:14pm)** _I told Raf to download it too. Just in case something goes wrong with your recording. He’s terrible at taking notes. We can’t rely on him for that at all._

**(1:15pm)** _I’m sorry if I’m driving you crazy. Don’t be nervous. You’ve been doing everything right, they’re both healthy._

**(1:15pm)** :)

**(1:19pm)** _Can you bring a sonogram back home too?_

**(1:53pm)** _What did the doctor say? How are you feeling?_

How is she feeling? Petra looks over at Rafael, he looks determined. That’s not how Petra feels. Tired. Sore. Crazy.

Relieved.

She looks over at Rafael again and he gives her a reassuring smile. His hand rests on her thigh, rubbing absently as he talks to his lawyer. A few months ago, this would have driven Petra wild. She would have wondered what it meant, if Rafael still loved her the way she still loved him.

Thought she loved him.

Now, it just feels nice. Safe. Comforting. Like she’s not alone anymore.

**Petra (2:18pm)** _my blood pressure is a little high. I forgot to record it. She just said I have to cut back at work and take it easy. Get more sleep._

**Jane (2:18pm)** _oh, okay. Well… that’s. it’ll be fine. My grandmother was right, Mateo cried himself to sleep in five minutes last night. Slept all the way through. So, you don’t have to sleep at the Marbella again tonight if you don’t want to. He won’t wake you up. I was wrong._

Petra laughs; she’s heard that come out of Jane’s mouth twice maybe, if that. She wants to tease her for it, but, technically, they are still fighting. Babies are the only thing that they don’t fight about. Mostly.

**Petra (2:20pm)** _I’ve got a sonogram. Rafael and I have a meeting tonight so I won’t be home until late probably. Or I might sleep here. I’m not sure yet._

**Jane (2:21pm)** _oh, okay._

Petra clicks her phone off. Rafael hangs up. “He’ll be over in an hour. I explained as much as I could over the phone.”

Petra nods.

Rafael slings an arm around her shoulder, helping her down off the table and not letting go. The two of them walk out of the doctor’s office together. “It’ll be okay Petra,” he says, sounding sure of himself.

“I’m gonna need a hamburger,” Petra declares. “And curly fries.”

Rafael beams. “Can do.”

The tiniest bit of weight slips off Petra’s shoulders as Rafael slips his hand into hers and squeezes.

…

…

The meeting with the lawyer does not go as well as Rafael thought it would.

The hamburger Petra scarfed down half an hour prior very nearly comes right back up, all over the floor of Rafael’s office.

Rafael walks Petra back to her mother’s suite afterwards to get the vitamins she left there this morning. In hindsight, she is so, so glad that Rafael is with her.

“That’s her,” Magda says once Petra steps through the door. Two officers make their way towards her.

“What?” Petra backs away from them, towards Rafael. “Mother what is going on?”

“I can’t cover for you anymore Petra,” Magda says. “It’s not right.”

“What?” Petra gasps.

“You murdered a man in cold blood,” Magda says in outrage. “I love you, but you have to be punished for this. I can’t stand by and lie for you anymore.”

“Mother!” Petra yelps, “stop lying! I didn’t—it wasn’t me,” Petra insists as the officers grab her.

“She’s lying!” Rafael yells, trying to step in between the officers and Petra. “Magda killed Ivan. Not Petra. _She_ is the one you need to be arresting.”

Magda tuts. “She even lies to the father of her children. I tried. I tried so hard with her, but sometimes people are beyond help. My own daughter,” she shakes her head in disapproval. “How could you do this Petra? You killed a man and just left him in the dirt like an animal. I didn’t raise you to be like this.”

Petra gapes at her mother as the officers twist her arms behind her and snap on cold metal cuffs, too tightly. She tries not to take her mother’s words inside, but they’ve already settled there. “Mama?” she pleads; her voice breaks in two, like a hard piece of sugar.

Magda does nothing but smile once the officers have turned their backs. Petra wants to pull away from her. Her smile says absolutely nothing that should ever be contained within a smile; it’s threatening, all teeth and aggressive curl of lips, something that Petra never wants to see on her mother’s face again. She knows now that she should stop longing for a love she'll never know. Never be allowed. Not from Magda. No matter how much she craves it. It doesn’t exist. If it ever did, it doesn’t anymore.

The officers shove her roughly out of the hotel suite and down the hall. Rafael shouts at her not to say a word. That he’s calling his lawyers back. Don’t say a single word. He’s calling Michael. It will be okay.

_It will be okay._

Petra sees Ivan’s ghost as she’s pushed into the back of the police car. Her mother’s cruel smile is pasted onto his face.

…

…

Petra drops her head into her hands and stops listening to Michael. She has long since tuned out Rafael and the lawyer. Her mother gave the police _evidence._ A knife, with Ivan’s blood on it and Petra’s DNA.

Which means that she planned this the night that she killed Ivan. Magda thought far enough ahead to implicate Petra for it. Her own daughter. The daughter she _said_ that she was trying to save when she killed him in the first place.

Petra’s head hurts.

Her whole _body_ hurts. She wants to scream. Hit things. Demand that her mother explain _why._ Why would she do this? _How_ could she do this? What did Petra do wrong this time? She never should have told Rafael; her mother must have just _known_ somehow. It’s a special kind of irony that the very afternoon she finally tells someone, she’s arrested for something that she didn’t do. _Why_ would her mother do this?

A hand rests gently on Petra’s back and she jumps. “Sorry,” Susanna’s whispers in her low drawl. “I think maybe you should drink this,” she offers a paper cup of water. “It’s been a few hours.”

“Going to use to to see if it’s really my DNA?” Petra bites out; she takes the cup and chugs it down anyway.

“No,” Susanna says, looking uncomfortable. “We’ve already determined that it is your DNA on the knife. They wouldn’t have arrested you otherwise.”

“You know, I may not know all the rules of friendship, but I think that arresting your girlfriend’s only real friend isn’t a great way to get into her pants.”

Susanna blushes a violent shade of red.

“ _I_ didn’t actually arrest you,” she clarifies. “But I see your point.”

“Can you un-arrest me then?” Petra asks sarcastically.

Susanna looks down at the table, deeply uncomfortable. How she ever manages to apprehend any criminals is beyond Petra.

“No,” she says as gently as possible. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

She genuinely looks it, but Petra wants to hit something anyway. “Well, then I hope that Luisa never sleeps with you again.”

Susanna beings mumbling. “Oh, we, well we haven’t actually—”

“I don’t care,” Petra snaps. It’s possible that she is being a bitch to Susanna for no reason; she has been nothing but kind from the moment that Petra was pushed through her door. And she instantly listened when Rafael and the lawyers explained what Magda had done. She never questioned that Petra might be lying, that she wasn’t being framed. Even Michael had paused for just a moment and raised his eyebrow at her before diving in to try and get Petra out of this mess. Susanna has been nothing but kind, and Petra is being a bitch.

She doesn’t have the energy to dredge up an ounce of sympathy. Or empathy. She doesn’t have a single pathy to give. She chuckles to herself and Susanna looks alarmed. God, now she is really beginning to lose it. Seeing Ivan’s “ghost” follow her around was bad enough, spontaneous giggling certainly isn’t going to do her any favors. Petra clamps a hand over her mouth. Rafael reaches over and rubs her back in small circles, the way he did when she was pregnant the first time. It’s so gentle, the kindest he’s been to her in months, the most physical contact she’s had with anyone since the night that she fell asleep in Alba’s arms, that Petra begins to sob uncontrollably.

Everyone stops talking. Rafael pulls her closer, and Susanna’s hand jerks out for a moment, as if she were going to try and comfort Petra again before deciding against it. Michael runs his hands through his hair, frustrated that he can’t do much of anything, and the lawyer just sits silently, looking at Petra with pity.

She is going to jail. Her _mother_ is sending her to jail. Her daughters will be born there and then taken away from her. Rafael will have to raise them on his own. He’ll be terrible at it. Not a poor father, Petra has always known that he would be a kind and attentive dad, but… on his own, he’ll be too overwhelmed. Too bored with simply being a father not to work as well, Petra knows him. He gets restless. He needs more in his life. Partying, work, it doesn’t matter, he need something more. And there is no way that he can balance The Marbella, newborn twins, and Mateo all in one. He’ll need someone.

Jane, probably.

It might be a good thing… Jane is a far better mother than Petra will ever hope to be. She would feel perfectly fine having Jane raise her daughters, they would certainly turn out better than if Petra attempts it. But, it wouldn’t be fair. Jane was already given a child that she didn’t plan for—technically, Petra’s fault as well—and she’s only just now starting to get her life back on track. Back to where she wants it. Two more babies wouldn’t be fair to her, not in the slightest.

There is snot coming out of Petra’s nose, it’s the grossest she has felt in a long time, which, considering everything as of late, is pathetic.

Susanna quickly passes her a tissue, and Petra decides that she finally sees… something of what Luisa sees in her beyond lust and distraction. It’s very annoying timing. Petra kind of wants to slap her for it, instead, she forces a shaky smile onto her face. It definitely comes across oddly from the look that Susanna gives her in return.

“Petra,” Michael bends down and gets his face right next to Petra’s, making sure that she is listening to him. “She framed you. There _will_ be a way to prove that. People _always_ make mistakes in these situations. However small, we will find one.”

Unbelievably, Petra finally gets why Jane fell in love with Michael. It’s a day of revelations apparently. Petra wants to scream until her voice gives out. Instead, she nods to Michael.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she tells him.

“Of course,” he jumps up, his chair nearly hitting the wall from the force. “Come with me.”

They walk through the precinct, and all eyes turn towards them. Petra straightens her spine on instinct and glares at each person that dares to meet her eye. Michael laughs lightly beside her.

“What?” Petra snaps.

“Nothing, just…” he sighs, smiling at her. “You’re the toughest person I think I’ve ever met. We’re gonna figure this out Petra.”

“Me?” Petra asks as they reach the ladies room. “Not Jane?”

Michael smiles fondly and Petra’s stomach instantly swells with jealously until she sees that it’s love on his face, for sure, but… it’s not the way that he used to look when thinking about Jane. The jealously deflates as quickly as it came on.

“Jane… yeah, Jane’s one of the toughest people I’ve ever met. Probably the toughest, till I met you. You guys are tough in a different way.”

“I’m the kind to deal with blackmail and murder, she’s the kind to deal with baby shit and moronic college students?” Petra jokes.

Michael bursts out into laughter. “Yeah, something like that.” He leans against the wall, crossing his arms and looking down at Petra with a smile, almost fondly. It’s annoying and oddly very nice. “Though, I’m sure you’d do just fine with idiot college students and baby shit too.”

Petra wrinkles her nose. “I don’t handle anyone’s body fluids particularly well.”

“I’ve heard that you’re a champion diaper wrapper.”

“From who?” Petra asks, genuinely shocked. She has changed Mateo’s diaper exactly four times, none of those occasions are exactly what she would qualify as “champion-like.”

Michael shrugs. “Jane, who else?”

Petra rolls her eyes. “Well, then Jane is exaggerating to make me look better.”

“And why would she do that?” Michael jokes. It’s perfectly lighthearted, nothing meant by it at all, but Petra freezes. Why _would_ she do that?

“I don’t know,” Petra mutters. “I’ve got to go.” She pushes into the bathroom before Michael can respond. Her hands shake as she pulls toilet paper out of the roll. She’s been arrested for _murder_ there is no way that Jane won’t hear about this. Legally, she might have already been notified by the arresting officers. They’ve taken Petra’s phone, so, she has no idea. Petra likes to imagine that Jane would contact Michael at the very least, possibly Rafael as well, but, she truly has no idea. God, she doesn’t even want to imagine what Xiomara’s reaction will be.

Petra flushes and washes her hands. Splashing some cold water onto her face doesn’t help hide the fact that she has very obviously been crying. She waits, just a moment, with her eyes closed before straightening up and heading back out of the sanctuary of the bathroom.

“So, speaking of Jane,” Michael says as soon as the door opens, picking their conversation right back up. “Even though I texted her that my phone and Rafael’s would be on silent, and that we were doing everything we could before we went into the interrogation room, she blew my phone up.” He holds it up almost proudly for Petra to see. “Fifty-nine text messages and twelve increasingly angry voice mails. I assume. I only listened to the first two, but I know how that story goes.”

Petra’s stomach twists in a panic. So, Jane knows. “So, she hates me, right?” she tries to laugh, as if she doesn’t care one way or another. Michael frowns in confusion.

“What? No, of course not. She’s furious that I didn’t give her a heads up so she could have had time to smuggle you into Canada while we worked on a plan to prove your innocence. Though, Mexico’s closer, so that would be her first mistake. She’s not really cut out for criminal activity.” Michael laughs, then immediately pales as he glances down at his phone again. “She’s here. Oh crap. I _told her_ that Rafael was bailing you out! I told her not to come down here!”

The front doors of the precinct bang open. Two officers jump up and pull out their guns.

“Stand down Greg,” Jane snaps at one of the men as she stamps through the room, Mateo strapped into a sling in front of her chest. She doesn’t notice Petra and Michael yet. “Where’s Michael?” she asks.

“Um, Jane…” the man, Greg, begins stuttering. “You’re not allowed to—”

“You called and informed me that my wife was arrested, I’m definitely allowed to be here,” Jane cuts him off.

“Right,” Greg shuffles behind his desk. “About that… I know you and Michael aren’t…” he waves his hand around awkwardly in lieu of a word. “But I didn’t know that you were married. How’d… that all happen?”

“It’s a very long and incredibly romantic story that I don’t have time to tell you right now,” Jane says with a huff. “Where’s my wife Greg? I know where you keep your stash of that illegal German candy with the plastic in it, I’ll tell your captain.”

Greg pales and jumps up out of his chair. “They were over here in room two. And it’s only illegal in case a kid chokes on it! I’m an adult! My cousin sends it to me. I don’t _ask_ him to.”

“Still technically illegal,” Jane reminds him, almost cheerfully. “Produce my wife in the next five seconds or I’m ratting you out and enjoying it.” Jane licks her lips and suddenly looks much less sure of her whole “hardass” routine. “I mean, I wouldn’t actually _enjoy_ it. That would be terrible, but I will do it if I have to,” she threatens. Even from across the room, it looks like it causes her pain. The familiar longing tugs in Petra’s stomach.

“Jane,” Michael calls out. “We’re over here.”

Jane whips around and catches sight of Michael and Petra. Her eyes widen comically, then she nearly sprints over towards them, talking so fast that Petra can only make out a few scattered words here and there. Rafael, Susanna, and the lawyer step out of the interrogation room and join them.

“And they can’t actually keep a pregnant woman in jail without proper accommodations. Or vitamins!” Jane keeps talking over everyone. “I brought them, but I’m not giving them up until I see where you’re holding her and if it’s humane. And if it’s _not_ humane, I’m taking her out of here! I swear, she won’t leave our house. I’m an honest person, I physically get sick sometimes when I lie. I promise she’s not a flight risk.”

“Jane!” Michael yells, grabbing her shoulders. “Stop talking. Everyone in this precinct already knows that you’re an honest person,” he drops his voice back to a normal octave. “If you’d paid any attention to the texts I sent you a few hours ago, you’d know that Petra has already been deemed not to be a flight risk and Rafael bailed her out.”

“Right,” Jane says, still vibrating with too much pent up energy. “I know that. I’m just making _sure._ ”

Rafael smiles at Jane like a doofy moron and the jealously in Petra’s stomach flares right back up. “Can I go home for the night then?” she asks. “I’m exhausted.”

Jane really turns her attention to Petra for the first time since she’s walked into the precinct. Every inch of Petra is clocked for injuries, signs of exhaustion, anything out of the ordinary before she hears Jane sigh with relief. Did she actually think that Michael and Susanna were going to beat a confession out of her? Or allow anyone else to? Her imagination is ridiculous sometimes. Completely despite herself, Petra feels the corners of her lips tug up into a smile.

“Yeah, you can go home for the night,” Michael says, eyeing the arresting detectives and his captain across the room. “But, you can’t go anywhere else,” he warns. “And officers are probably going to be stationed in a car outside for the night. And they’ll bring you back in again to talk to us some more in the morning.”

“I’ve already told you everything,” Petra complains.

“It’s policy,” Michael shrugs, apology written all over his face. “This is a murder case.”

Petra doesn’t need the reminder.

“Right well, for now, we’re going home.” Jane grabs Petra’s hand and tugs her along gently, leading her out with their heads held high. Rafael stays back to finish up with the lawyers. Petra doesn’t say a single word to Jane the entire drive home. And Jane sits silent and fidgety as well. Everything about them being together is awkward, full of the tension from their prolonged silent treatments and snappish comments as of late. When they walk into the house together, Jane passes Mateo to her mother without a word and pulls Petra into their bedroom.

“Jane—” Petra begins.

“Why did you tell me?” Jane cuts her off.

Petra blanches. “We’re in a fight,” she reminds Jane, confused.

“Yes, and the person who is in the wrong apologizes!” Jane says, as if she can’t believe that she has to explain this, but also, is unsurprised.

Petra is more confused than ever. She sits down on the bed, then mumbles, “I’m sorry.”

Jane frowns. “Profusely!” she adds.

 “I _am,_ ” Petra insists. “I am sorry. Do you think that I _wanted_ to help my mother cover up a murder she committed to protect me? Then lie to you and everyone about it? Then get _arrested_ for it myself! Of course not! I _am_ sorry!”

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” Jane asks again, her voice gentle and soft as she sits down beside Petra.

Petra laughs harshly. “Why didn’t I tell someone with a completely naive black and white view of the world that I’d helped cover up a murder? Gosh, I have no idea why. Silly me. Maybe I didn’t want to be kicked out, divorced, and have you never want to speak to me again after you turned me in to the police.” Petra rises and grabs a bag, beginning to randomly shove all of her belongings within her sight into it as she talks. “Though, obviously, that was stupid on my part, because _of course_ this was always going to happen. The truth _always_ comes out, and now, you also hate me for being a bitch and lying.”

“I—what are you doing?” Jane asks.

“What does it look like?” Petra snaps, shoving a book that is technically Jane’s but she has been reading into her bag. “Packing my things. That was a delightful show at the precinct. No one is going to think that you knew Jane. Obviously, there is no way you can be implicated for this, you don’t have to put on a show about it. You can just file for divorce while I’m in jail. I hear that tends to move things along much quicker.”

“I—shut up!” Jane yells, jumping up and grabbing the bag out of Petra’s hands. “I’m not… stop packing your things! You’re not… you thought I would _kick you out?_ ”

“Aren’t you!” Petra yells.

“NO!” Jane yells back. She slaps at Petra’s arm, carefully contained anger barely tapping at Petra’s skin. “You thought that I would—God! I am so _mad at you!_ ”

“Jane—”

“You helped _cover up a murder!_ ” Jane screams. “I mean, I _get it._ It’s your mom. But… _God_ Petra, you really thought that I would turn you in and kick you out? _Really?_ ”

“I—”

“Wow,” Jane is angry again. Furious. Petra’s only seen her this angry maybe once, or twice before. “Good to know that you think so highly of me,” she walks out of the room, leaving Petra alone and miserable.

…

…

Jane comes back into the room less than half an hour later to find Petra in exactly the same spot that she left her. Petra looks up in shame as Jane sets a sleeping Mateo down into his crib. Then, she takes a deep breath and turns around to face Petra.

“So,” she says without meeting Petra’s eye. “I’m a lot calmer now, and Abuela yelled at me.”

Petra frowns in confusion. “For what?”

“Being bullheaded and not acknowledging that I _do_ tend to have a pretty black and white view on the world, and reminding me that it might not have been exactly _easy_ for you to come to anyone with this, let alone me. Given our, complicated history.” Jane finally meets Petra’s eye. Apologetic and shameful.

Petra swallows, and tries to explain the fear that had crept up her throat until she had choked. The fear that settled itself into the pit of her stomach from the moment that she walked in on her mother pulling her hook out of Ivan’s neck, until this very minute.

Instead, she starts to sob. Again.

Jane’s arms are around her in an instant, holding her as tightly as Petra’s awkward and annoyingly bloated stomach will allow. “Petra,” she whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Petra chokes, “you don’t— _I_ am. I didn’t, I _wanted_ to tell you Jane. A million times.”

“You were scared,” Jane supplies. Petra nods into Jane’s shoulder, and a new wave of sobs overtakes her. “Petra, look—I’m obviously not thrilled that you helped bury a man that your mother killed. No matter how much I hated him, or how much he maybe, kind of deserved it. I think we can all agree that was the wrong thing to do.”

Jane waits, and Petra rolls her eyes before nodding. Jane smiles at her, almost proudly. Petra rolls her eyes again. “You don’t have to be condescending about it,” she says.

“I’m not trying to be,” Jane promises. “I just… want to be clear about the fact that murder isn’t condoned in this family.”

Petra sits up and glares at her.

“Okay,” Jane shakes her head. “That was condescending, even I heard it. Sorry. But like, can you just verbally agree to make me feel better anyway?”

“Can I slap you at the same time?” Petra asks.

“I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“Murder is bad,” Petra says dryly.

Jane sighs like someone deeply resigned to the fact that their old aunt is a racist bitch who will die sooner rather than later, and some things just aren’t worth arguing about over and over. Petra appreciates the effort, and chooses not to elaborate any further. Jane can’t always have the moral high ground.

“Awesome,” Jane mumbles. “Glad we’re done with that.”

“Jane, I’m tired, and I’m probably going to jail in the morning, so can we please just wrap this up?”

“You are _not_ ,” Jane insists. “Rafael has very expensive lawyers, and what are they good for if not getting rich people off for crimes they technically had some part in?”

Petra glares. But, she _did_ help bury the body. Jane _does_ have the moral high ground here—she usually does.

“No one is letting you go to jail. Michael is going to figure something out. Your mom falsified evidence, he’ll find a way to prove that. I know he will.”

“Jane, I want to believe that everything will work out okay if you’re a good person, and you click your heels and wish on a star, but I just don’t think that’s true. Besides, I don’t think anything I did in this situation qualifies me as a good person.”

“You _are,_ ” Jane insists fiercely. She grabs Petra’s hands and forces her to look at her. “Petra, you _are_ a good person. You did a bad thing, that’s true. You’ve done more than one bad thing in your life. That’s true of a lot of people. Granted, most people don’t have cheating on their husband with his best friend, or covering up for their mother pushing someone’s grandmother down the stairs, or trying to get their husband arrested for domestic abuse to get money in a divorce, or stealing sperm and inseminating themselves, or—”

“Okay! We get it!” Petra yells.  

“… on their list,” Jane finishes. “But, you’ve got a lot of good things on your list too Petra. Like, watching Mateo when I was asleep and you didn’t have to. Or, getting our neighbors to turn their music down and become my friends. Or helping me with my tuition. Or becoming friends with someone you used to avoid like the plague.” Jane smiles at Petra and squeezes her hands. “You’re a good person Petra. You’ve gotten trapped in a lot of really shitty situations. A lot of them involving your mother.”

“I can’t believe that she would frame me,” Petra gasps; the hurt still shocking and deeply painful. “I…” and now she’s sobbing again, her words coming out in painful gasps. “What did I do that she would—why would she do this to me?”

Jane’s entire body is wrapped around Petra’s, holding her so fiercely Petra can almost breathe again. “I don’t know,” Jane admits. “But it’s not your fault.”

Jane repeats this, more than once as Petra cries herself to sleep. _It’s not your fault._ Petra wants to believe her, but, she doesn’t.

…

…

“We got her!” Michael yells triumphantly as they walk into the precinct the next morning. He’s disheveled, his hair mussed up, and some of the buttons on his shirt are in the wrong place. Petra sees five empty coffee cups on his desk. “We got her!” he repeats, almost jumping up and down. Susanna comes up behind him, looking just as sleep deprived, but slightly more kempt.

“Did you tell them?” she asks excitedly.

“What?” Jane asks, “what happened?”

“We got Magda! Susanna and I never went home, we raided her suite. We found the hook she used, she didn’t get rid of it. They’re expensive and she only has two. It’s still got traces of Ivan’s blood on it. She’s being arrested for second degree murder, falsifying evidence, and falsely accusing someone of a crime,” Michael grabs Petra’s arms and grins at her. “We’ve got her. You’re not going to jail.”

Petra can’t breathe. Michael and Jane both start jumping up and down happily, Susanna joining in after a moment. The three of them jump and cheer around Petra until Rafael and Luisa come rushing into the precinct.

“We got her!” Jane yells out happily. “Petra’s not going to jail!”

Luisa and Rafael both start jumping too.

Petra stands in the middle of them all in shock. “But… I helped bury the body,” she says, bewildered.

Michael stops jumping. “Yeah, that’s bad. They decided not to add to the charges because of mitigating circumstances. I mean, it was your mom.”

“Yeah,” Petra whispers.

Three officers come through the front doors, Magda in handcuffs being led between them. Her eyes find Petra instantly. “This is all your fault,” she hisses. Petra thought that terrible smile was the worst thing she’d ever seen on her mother’s face, but this, this is so much worse. “I wish I’d gotten rid of you like the other one!” Magda screams. Any lingering bit of maternal kindness evaporates, like someone has sucked all of the the air from the room. Petra folds into herself, and starts backing away.

Then, Jane jumps in front of her like a tiny, ferocious guard dog. Petra gapes as Jane screams profanities at her mother. Telling her that she is a terrible person, and an even worse mother, and that Petra deserves _so much better_ than her. Luisa chimes in, cursing Magda out much more gleefully than Jane, while Rafael watches the both of them in shock.

Magda glares, and spits onto the floor, dismissing them all as beneath her. Luisa calls her real classy, and says that’s nothing before starting to get a spitwad going herself. Thankfully, Susanna stops her.

Jane turns around, dismissing Magda entirely and looks up at Petra. “Are you okay?” she asks.

She’s not. She’s definitely not. But if she speaks, her voice might shake, and she’s better than she thought she was going to be fifteen minutes ago, so, she nods. Jane looks unconvinced and worried, but she slips her hand into Petra’s and pulls her into a tight hug.

“I told you didn’t I?” she whispers. “I knew it was going to be okay.”

She pulls back after a moment, and looks up at Petra like… like there is something else she wants to say. The look on her face makes Petra’s skin itch, though she doesn’t know why. She holds her breath, and stares down at Jane, waiting. Jane’s mouth opens and closes twice, but she doesn’t say anything. Then, Rafael clears his throat beside them, and Jane jumps, her hands dropping Petra’s like they’re on fire.

“You okay?” Rafael directs towards Petra, but he never takes his eyes off Jane. Petra clearly wasn’t imagining the odd look on Jane’s face a moment ago, because Rafael is looking at her like she’s something foreign to him all of the sudden.

“Yeah,” Petra croaks out. “I just want to get out of here.”

“Right,” Jane finally snaps to attention. “Let’s get milkshakes.”

“Milkshakes?” Petra asks.

“To celebrate you not going to jail. Celebratory milkshakes.” Her expression is still odd. When she turns to leave, she reaches for Petra’s hand on instinct, before yanking it back once she realizes what she is doing. “I want chocolate,” she says, clearing her throat. “What kind do you want Petra? They’re your celebratory milkshakes.”

“You keep saying that,” Rafael tells her, still looking at her oddly. He looks between the both of them, Petra and Jane, and frowns.

“Because milkshakes are awesome,” Jane defends. “Right Petra?” she looks up at her almost helplessly. Pleading something with her eyes that Petra doesn’t understand.

Something is happening here, in this space between them. It feels heavy and charged, filled up with a million things that neither of them are saying. Petra swallows, and looks between Jane’s pleading face and Rafael’s frown, and she doesn’t ask the questions that are fighting to crawl their way out of her throat. Instead, she plasters a smile onto her face and says, “Chocolate sounds good.”


	10. not while i'm around

Her blood pressure is too high. Higher than at her last appointment, somehow.

Petra is ordered to bed rest, and she wants to punish someone for it. So, she takes it out on anyone who dares to speak to her for even five seconds. Which winds up being mainly Jane and Rafael.

They are both far more patient with her than Petra would ever be with either of them. Jane shows up at the room that Rafael sets Petra up in at The Marbella (a decision they made together with the doctor when Petra had gone to the bathroom) approximately four or five times a day. And Rafael and Luisa seem to both just appear out of nowhere whenever Jane isn’t around.

Petra is not exactly at the pinnacle of tranquility and rest.

“I don’t want another cup of tea!” Petra screams at the poor woman tasked with coming into her room every few hours to check up on her. Rafael frowns at her from across the room before apologizing and taking the tea with a reassuring smile. Petra is _not_ going to drink it. It can sit there, growing cold and pungent for all she cares.

“Are you going to yell at everyone today?” he asks.

“Yes,” Petra decides. “Give me my phone.”

“You’re supposed to be relaxing. Checking your emails isn’t going to relax you if you can’t get up and deal with things. You don’t need to work right now. I’ve got everything handled.”

“Rafael,” Petra’s voice dips dangerously low. She is the picture of calm; Rafael pales accordingly. “Give. Me. My. Phone.”

Rafael hands it over without another word.

“Thank you,” Petra tells him. Knowing that it comes across as, _‘fuck you’._ A practiced and valuable skill of hers. Rafael sighs dramatically before going back over to the other side of the suite, thankfully, out of Petra’s sight.

Her blood pressure probably drops twenty percent just for that.

…

…

Petra is, predictably, _terrible_ at bed rest.

She’s managed to frighten every single maid at the hotel who comes within five feet of her room. Each server tasked with bringing up her meals leaves in tears. Jane relieves everyone but Lina from their duties on day three. Lina has early shifts this week, and is unafraid of Petra. She brings in Petra’s breakfast and offers backhanded makeup tips whenever Petra snaps at her. Only once, when Petra makes a dig at her lack of education, does Lina falter. She recovers quickly, something that Petra recognizes so thoroughly she tastes bile in the back of her throat; aching to suck the words back into her mouth, to have them never have been uttered in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out when Lina is already halfway out the door.

Lina turns and stares at Petra, unflinchingly meeting her eyes. It’s brave. If not for the fact that even Petra knows that she just went too far, Lina is her employee. It’s the first time in so many months that Petra finally understands some of what Jane sees in Lina other than a nostalgic grasp on childhood friendship. Petra is so sick of finally coming around to the people she could previously hate with no qualms whatsoever; it’s exhausting.

“Yeah,” Lina says quietly. “You should be.” Her eyes widen in horror as she realizes what she just said to her boss, and she quickly backtracks. “If you fire me, Jane will totally never speak to you again!”

“I’m not going to fire you,” Petra rolls her eyes. “Frankly, it’s nice to talk to someone with some backbone.”

“Oh,” Lina perks up. “Well, in that case, can I just say—”

“No,” Petra cuts her off immediately. “That was a one-time pass.”

Lina huffs in indignation, but gives Petra an absent wave as she slips through the door. “Bye then, feel better!” she calls over her shoulder. Petra hates that phrase. _Feel better._ A command. Something that you have absolutely no control over whatsoever. If a human being was capable of willing their body back into perfect health, no one would ever have a cold or die of cancer. It’s a trite, useless, empty phrase.

Petra sulks alone in her suite for nearly three hours before Luisa finally drags herself into full consciousness and comes to hang out for the afternoon. Petra remains sulky and mean after Luisa takes her phone away and places it on top of the refrigerator. They lie crammed together, though there is plenty of space in Petra’s bed, and watch shitty daytime tv. By the time that Rafael comes to relieve Luisa for her date with Susanna, Petra is ready to strangle her. Luisa accepts this far too casually, leaning down and beaming as she places a peck on Petra’s cheek moments after she’s called her a _‘goddamn horny fucking asshole’._

“Love you too,” Luisa says. “Your fat ankles don’t look so bad today.”

Rafael snorts from the kitchen, high-fiving his sister as she passes him, and Petra throws a pillow at his face. She takes it back, if they are going to gang up on her, then they should just go back to fighting with each other constantly.

Rafael catches the pillow and grins at her. “Want some tea?”

Petra cannot believe that there was ever a time in her life when she was in love with him. She throws another pillow at his face.

…

…

“You made fun of the fact that Lina didn’t go to college,” Jane accuses the very moment that she steps into the suite.

“I—”

“ _You_ also didn’t go to college! That’s… _God_ Petra, that has nothing to do with someone’s intelligence! I can’t believe that you—”

“I’m sorry,” Petra cuts her off. “I know that.” Jane crosses her arms and glares once she reaches the bed. Frowning down at Petra with such a force that if Petra hadn’t already been lying down, she would have under Jane’s gaze. “It wasn’t what I meant anyway, I was just frustrated, and I apologized. Profusely,” she adds when Jane’s glare deepens.

Jane doesn’t move at all for a few beats, her arms rigid and eyebrows furrowed down at Petra. Then, she finally sucks in a breath and releases her arms. “I’m mad at you,” she announces. “But I’m choosing to move past it and chalk it up to extreme discomfort and hormones. Mostly, because Lina told me not to get all ‘grudge-y, and self-righteous’ about something that she has gotten over already.” Jane points a finger in Petra’s direction dramatically. “But, if it happens again, I am not getting over it,” she warns.

“It won’t,” Petra promises. “I don’t know why I said it. Well, no, that’s not true. I do. I was scared and frustrated and I wanted to hurt someone.” Petra feels herself shrug, surprised by the honesty of her words and trying to make them appear somehow casual. Jane’s body tightens in surprise, and something seems to pass between them, a subtle rearranging of air. It takes Jane a moment to recover, Petra staring at her openly the whole time.

“Right,” Jane clears her throat, turning away from Petra and busying herself in the small kitchen. “Do you want some tea?”

If she’s never asked that question again, it’ll still be too soon.

“No thanks,” Petra says as politely as she can manage.

Jane sets the kettle back down, half full, as if she doesn’t know what else she should be doing with her hands. The weird tension still hangs in the air. Petra is too tired and on edge to try and make sense of it. Or to do anything to ease Jane’s obvious, sudden discomfort. She rolls over and closes her eyes, trying not to think about her blood pressure, or if she is about to accidentally kill her children again. Petra wonders what Magda’s blood pressure was like while she was pregnant, surely if anyone’s womb is hostile, it was her mother’s. Petra wonders how she survived. How she managed to spend nine months of her life linked to that woman so intimately. Maybe that’s why she is so messed up.

What if it’s hereditary? What if she’s just plain doomed.

A part of her, the evilest, smallest part wonders if maybe it might just be better if the twins don’t survive. Maybe the first baby was a sign.

_Whoops, no, you don’t want to do that._

It wouldn’t sound like that. There would be nothing cheerful or kind about it. It would have Magda’s harsh lit. A warning.

_Don’t be so stupid Petra. Close your legs. Do you really want to turn out like me?_

No, never.

And yet—

Petra opened her legs of her own volition and did this to herself. Stupid. Crazy. Desperate. And now, the outcome might end up being exactly the same as the first time; Rafael’s happiness overwhelming Petra into something like her own, only to be dashed away at the last minute.

Maybe she should just stop fighting the signs and let nature take its course.

“You know what we should do,” Jane declares, voice too high. Overly cheerful; trying to rearrange the air between them back into something normal. Familiar. “We should make a list of possible names. I can’t believe we don’t have one yet. I know that Rafael has a few that he likes, he mentioned it a little while ago. What about you?”

“I don’t want to think about names,” Petra curls into herself tighter. She never named the first one—the boy. But, they had a list of names. People that he could have been. When she had found it, a few weeks after the miscarriage, it sent her into a panic, unable to catch her breath for what felt like hours. Until Rafael had found her, sitting on the floor, gasping and clutching that stupid piece of paper and sat down beside her, wrapping his arms around her tighter than he ever did before.

Petra had burnt the page the next morning. She doesn’t want to have to burn anything this time.

“Hey,” Jane’s voice is gentle, suddenly much closer than when Petra had closed her eyes. “What’s going on in your head?”

Jane likes honesty, and Petra is sick of keeping everything inside of her anyways. “I think they’re going to die,” she whispers.

“What?”

Petra keeps her eyes closed. “The twins. I think—this is what happened last time.”

“Petra,” Jane’s voice is so kind. Her hand reaching out, brushing hair out of Petra’s eyes and continuing the motion. Fingers lightly dancing through Petra’s hair.

“Maybe I’m just not meant to be a mother. It might be a good thing. I don’t—I don’t want to be like her. Maybe this is just—”

“Stop it,” Jane says, firmly but not unkindly. “Petra, look at me.” Her finger taps against Petra’s temple, and she opens her eyes and looks up at Jane, sitting on the edge of the bed. She shifts, motioning for Petra to scoot over more, and then she is propped up against the headboard, her arms wrapped around Petra, her heart beating steadily beneath Petra’s cheek. “You’re not ever going to be like your mother. And I… I _do not_ want you to take this the wrong way, because I don’t think there is anything shameful about it at _all,_ but I think that you should talk to a therapist. Because Petra, your mother did a lot of really terrible things to you, and none of it was your fault, and none of it means that you are going to do them too. I think a professional could help you realize that.”

“Jane,” Petra sighs.

“Hold on, I’m not done. That’s just something I wanted to mention, we don’t have to talk about it anymore right now if you don’t want to.” Jane shifts again, so Petra is forced upright. Forced to look Jane in the eye. “The universe isn’t giving you some bullshit sign or punishment. Pregnancy is hard and weird. I read this study about how different human pregnancy is than basically every other species, and ours is _fucked up._ The baby almost literally sucks the life out of you. It’s gross as hell and sounds like something out of a sci-fi novel. It was a very dumb thing to read while pregnant _._ But, the point is, it’s insane, and you have _two of them._ Bed rest is pretty par for the course at some point for women with multiple babies. It’s relatively common even if it’s just one.”

“Jane…”

“I’m calling Luisa,” Jane declares, and hits speed dial on her phone before Petra can protest. “She’s going to give us her medical opinion about how you’re talking nonsense.”

“Jane, Luisa is—”

“A very smart woman with a crazy high IQ, who basically managed to get through medical school drunk. Her being a mess outside of that doesn’t make her brain any less impressive.”

Petra can’t really argue with that. Not five minutes later, Luisa has joined the two of them in Petra’s bed.

“Well, I’ve only had two ladies in my bed a few times despite my _incredible_ sexual appeal,” she jokes as she climbs in beside Petra. “I’ll be honest, they were never this hot!” she says as she passes a bowl of popcorn to Petra and a winks at Jane. Petra rolls her eyes and Jane laughs, the smallest bit of underlying tension to it.

“Will you please tell her that she doesn’t have a hostile uterus and isn’t a baby killer?” Jane asks, cutting right to the point.

Luisa frowns down at Petra. “Is that really what you think?”

“I didn’t say it exactly like that,” Petra mumbles. _But she thought it._

Luisa grabs Petra’s face, her warm hands cupping each cheek, and she presses their faces so closely together that their noses touch. “Listen to me very carefully,” she orders. “You have done everything right with this pregnancy. Whatever happens, you did good. Better than actually, most women ignore a lot of things that you didn’t.”

“Luisa,” Jane hisses. “That is not what—”

“That being said!” Luisa interrupts. “This is not going to be like last time. Nothing bad is going to happen to these babies. Except for the fact that they’re going to have Solano genes, and probably shouldn’t drink much alcohol, or get into anything with super addictive properties.” She looks up and grins at Jane. “Mateo too, just a heads up.”

“Luisa… thank you,” Jane starts. “But I was thinking maybe tell her some more medical facts or something?”

“Do you want that?” Luisa asks Petra. “I can do that. But I’m telling you, trust me, it’s not going to be like last time.”

Petra swallows. Her face still cupped by Luisa, Jane pressing into her other side, both of them waiting for Petra to react. She _does_ trust Luisa. And Jane. Even Rafael. None of the doctors are worried, not to the extent that Petra is, she _knows_ that she’s being a little…

Rafael walks into the room, pausing when he sees the three of them tangled up together in the bed. “What’s… going on?” he asks.

“Petra’s worried that it’s going to be like last time,” Luisa supplies bluntly. Jane reaches over Petra and smacks her on the arm, and Petra watches Rafael sag.

“It’s not,” he says firmly, but Petra can see his hand shaking from over here. He follows her gaze and balls his hand into a tight fist. “It’s not,” he repeats, clearly trying to convince himself as much as her.

Petra nods. Rafael’s shaky hand somehow being the final thing that allows her to breathe. He knows. More than Luisa. More than Jane. Exactly how Petra feels right now. That shaky hand was clasped in her own years ago. He walks over and climbs into the bed beside Jane, his hand reaching out once more and slipping into Petra’s.

“Okay,” Petra whispers, wrapped up by all three of them. She’s still worried. She doesn’t know how not to be. But, she’s not going to let it consume her anymore.

“Great!” Luisa pulls Petra’s face close again and kisses her forehead. “Do you need anything else from me? Cause I’ll totally cancel on Susanna if you need me to, no problem.”

“No,” Petra shakes her head. “I’m fine, go have fun.”

“I should probably go get Mateo ready for bed,” Jane admits. She’s reluctant to climb out of the bed, her hand remaining clasped in Petra’s free one until she’s nearly dragging Petra out of it with her. Petra can feel Rafael watching them closely, but he doesn’t say a word. Not till after Jane and Petra have said their goodbyes and Jane slips out of the suite.

He sighs, leaning further back into the bed. “Do you have any names in mind?” he asks.

“I… do you?”

He props himself up. “A few, don’t have a favorite though.”

“I don’t want to make a list again.”

“Me neither,” he admits. Clearly remembering the same day as Petra. “But, I’ve got an idea.” He gets up and grabs one of the decorative clear bowls from the counter top and a notebook and pens. “We do a lot of googling, toss any we vaguely like into the bowl, and pick some out at random and see how we feel.” He shakes the bowl at her with a smile.

“Fine,” Petra agrees.

They spend the rest of the evening laughing. Purposefully picking crazy names and tossing them in whenever the other one isn’t looking. Petra rips up Rafael’s paper with _Magnolia_ on it and shoves it into his mouth, his laughter ringing out in her ears. By the time Jane has texted her to say goodnight, and she’s half asleep already, they both pull out names that make them smile.

“I think I’ve got mine,” Rafael says.

Petra grips the sliver of paper into her fist tightly, the name on it taking shape inside of her mind. She can’t un-know it now. “Me too,” she whispers.

“Let’s not show each other yet,” Rafael decides. Petra nods and puts hers back into the bowl, pushing it over to him. Without a word, he drops his into it, then dumps them all into the recycling bin. “It is going to be okay,” he says.

“I know,” Petra whispers.

She doesn’t believe the words. But she’s starting to.

…

…

Two weeks later, her blood pressure is down, and she’s back to work.

The relief she feels is so overwhelming that she has to sit down and force herself to breathe normally.

The name on the paper feels more and more real with each day that passes.

…

…

An artist from a prominent family who’s wedding they are trying to book for The Marbella seems to have some sort of personal grudge against Petra, though she hasn’t the faintest clue why. Not until she goes to her gallery opening with Rafael in hopes to sway her with the promise of a discount. Not until she’s face to face with a sculpture of herself, five years prior.

“That… that is _not_ me,” Petra gapes.

She’s depicted as nothing more than a shallow trophy wife, berating another woman. The artist. Who apparently came to The Marbella years ago. Petra gave her a reason to hold a grudge.

“I’m not having my wedding at your hotel,” the woman sneers. “The two of you can leave now.”

Rafael leads her out of the room, one arm slung protectively around her shoulders as onlookers glance between the statue and Petra. “Rafael, that’s not… I was more than that. I mean, aren’t I?”

“You always were,” he insists. “Remember the fish?”

Petra frowns, looking up at him as they walk down the street. “What fish?”

He laughs. “There was a wedding, and a vendor was trying to jack the prices up. No one noticed but you, and you went right over to the fish market and fought him down until he gave us a fair price. You came home beaming, and you smelled terrible.” He grins at her, and Petra whacks him in the chest. “You were so proud that you saved us seventy dollars. In the grand scheme of things, seventy dollars was almost nothing. That was it. That was the moment I knew I really loved you. I thought I had before that, but that was when I knew. You were never a shallow trophy wife. Someone like that wouldn’t bother looking at the numbers to begin with, and they certainly wouldn’t march down to a fish market to negotiate with a burly merchant for hours over seventy dollars.”

Petra blanches. She remembers now, but she never knew all of _that._ “Really?”

Rafael’s eyes drop down to Petra’s lips. Just for a moment, but it’s something Petra recognizes so well that she freezes. The possibility hasn’t even crossed her mind for months. Rafael smiles at her, and tugs her head close to press a kiss to her temple instead, almost managing to wave the moment off. It lingers anyhow, persistent and demanding.

“Really,” he promises, clearing his throat. “That woman doesn’t know what she’s talking about. We don’t need her wedding. We’ll get a better one.”

“Much better,” Petra agrees. “A richer family.”

Rafael bursts out laughing. “A richer family who wants to have fish served.”

He is still laughing when they run into Jane. “Want some fish?” he asks. Petra can’t hold her own laughter in anymore, no matter how odd she feels about their almost kiss. Jane stares at them both with a mixture of confusion and happiness.

“No thank you,” she finally says.

“Come on,” Rafael nudges Petra, grinning between her and Jane. “We’ll give you a great price,” he offers.

“You two are being so weird,” Jane loops her arm with Petra’s and pulls her along towards the bus, waving goodbye to Rafael without turning around. His laughter, and the way he looked at Petra replays over and over in her head all night long. No matter how much she tries to force herself to think about other things.

…

…

“A baby shower,” Petra says warily.

“Surprise!” Jane cheers, pushing Petra out into the courtyard. Luisa, Susanna, Alba, Xiomara, and Lina all turn and smile, yelling ‘surprise’ along with Jane.

“I hate you,” Petra whispers through her teeth, smile plastered onto her face. Jane pinches her side. Petra pinches her right back and Jane yelps.

Alba walks over and pulls Petra away from Jane, pressing orange juice into her hands and pushing her down into the seat at the head of the table. Everyone else—apart from Luisa—gets to have mimosas.

They eat and Petra worries that Jane is going to give some bullshit impassioned speech to try and make this whole situation seem less pathetic. As if her words can make up for the lack of people hobbled together to be here. For her lack of friends and family. _Mother_. Instead, she simply stands up and smiles at Petra, raises her glass and says, “To Petra, who’s having two babies.”

Petra finally smiles for real.

Xiomara laughs and clinks her glass with Lina’s while Alba sighs. Luisa grins and chugs her orange juice, as well as Petra’s. Susanna looks deeply uncomfortable. (Jane invited her without knowing that she broke up with Luisa because she still isn’t over Rose yet. Petra is oddly touched that she chose to come anyway, despite the awkwardness of the situation.)

Jane and Petra smile at each other from across the table. _No bullshit,_ Jane mouths then sips her mimosa.

“Well, do I get any presents?” Petra asks, but what she actually means is _thank you._

Jane points towards another table beside them. “Loads,” she says, but Petra can see in her face that what she actually means is _your welcome._

She doesn’t think about her mother once the entire afternoon. She eats as many cookies as she wants and opens each present that Jane enthusiastically hands—then explains—to her with Alba’s thigh pressed right up against her own, helping her unwrap each present delicately. Xiomara and Lina whoop and sip at their mimosas every time that Petra opens something and declares unceremoniously that she will never need to use it, despite Jane’s protests to the contrary.

Luisa corners her when they go to the bathroom and questions her about all the weird looks between herself and Jane.

“What?” Petra scoffs and washes her hands.

“I think she might like you back.”

Petra turns off the faucet. “Shut up,” she moves to dry her hands.

“No,” Luisa stands in front of her. “I’m serious. She’s giving off some seriously sapphic vibes today.”

“You’re just upset that Susanna broke up with you.” Petra reaches above her head and wipes her hands on a towel, please with their height difference in this moment. “You’re projecting.”

“Yeah, that’s probably true. And match making would make me feel better,” Luisa jokes. But her face turns serious and she grabs hold of Petra’s still damp hands. “But also, I think I’m a little bit right. It’s not just today. And, it’s not just me who’s noticed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Petra snaps.

“It means, stop being a chickenshit and thinking that no one loves you. Everyone here today loves you. Well, besides Susanna. She’s here because she’s nice.”

Petra snorts. “Xiomara does not love me.”

Luisa smiles and drags Petra out of the bathroom. “Maybe not _love,_ ” she agrees. “But something like it.”

When they step back into the courtyard, Jane immediately jumps up and runs over to them. “So, I know that baby showers are usually a gendered thing, but, gender is stupid and basically nonexistent anyway, and honestly, I can’t stop my father from doing much,” she begins, looping her arm through Petra’s and pulling her along. “So… I’m sorry. But also, please, please, _please_ just be nice.”

Rogelio, Michael, and Rafael walk through the door, carrying a cake nearly as big as the three of them combined. A blown up picture of Petra’s face is displayed on the frosting. With the words _she’s having his baby_ with an arrow pointed towards the side of the cake that Rafael is holding. _It’s not his baby,_ is pointed towards where Michael is holding it, and _she’s having his grandbaby,_ is directed towards Rogelio. There is also a picture of his face on the cake, just in case anyone was confused on who the pseudo grandfather was.

“Surprise,” Jane says, tugging on Petra’s arm until she smiles.

Rogelio cuts Petra a piece of her _lustrous hair_ and presents it to her like it’s a million dollars before giving Jane a piece with one of Petra’s eyes. Jane stares down at it, her fork posed over her plate precariously.

“This feels like cannibalism. I can’t eat your eye,” she moans. “It’s _staring_ at me.”

“I’m eating her chin,” Luisa says and stuffs her face without preamble. “It tastes great!”

Jane looks back down at her cake. “It’s too pretty to eat,” she declares. “I need a piece that doesn’t have Petra on it.” She walks over and takes Michael’s piece from him as he is about to take his first bite. He yelps in protest, groaning when Jane tells him he isn’t allowed to eat hers instead. _No one_ is allowed to eat either of Petra’s eyes.

Petra takes a small bite of her cake as she watches them, and feels light for the first time in months.


	11. the god-why-don't-you-love-me-blues

Luisa was in a car accident; she relapsed.

Petra absorbs this information without breathing, without moving, unable to even blink. She hasn’t talked to Luisa in a few days, and Petra _knew_ that she was upset over her breakup with Susanna, and feeling conflicted about helping Michael with Rose’s case, but, Petra didn’t think that she was _relapse_ bad _._ Not even for a moment.

Petra feels sick.

“Wait,” Jane grabs Petra’s arm and squeezes it too tightly, listening to Michael on her phone. “She’s fine,” Jane breathes. “She’s—oh my _God_ Michael why wouldn’t you _lead with that!_ ” she hisses. “She was always fine!”

“What?” Petra asks, confused and furious with worry.

Jane informs Michael that they are coming right over and promptly hangs up on him. Grabbing her keys and Petra’s hand, she pulls them out the door, calling over her shoulder to Alba that there is an emergency (sort of) and can she please watch Mateo for like an hour? It’s not until they have made it to the bus station that Jane finally explains the entire phone call.

It was a goddamn stunt to bait Sin Rostro.

Petra wants to strangle Luisa herself. She might actually kill Michael when they arrive at the hospital. She doesn’t care that it worked, that Rose showed up, that Michael and Susanna managed to arrest her. She _doesn’t care._

Playing into Luisa’s sobriety, and faking a lethal car accident is manipulative and cruel. (And, something that Petra would absolutely do herself; she’s choosing not to dwell on that just now.) Righteous in her fury as she waddles into the hospital room and shoves Michael up against a wall.

“You’re a bastard,” she spits out.

“Petra!” Jane and Luisa chastise her at the same time. Petra releases him. She wasn’t planning on saying anything else, it was just the principal of the thing. Michael nods, looking properly shamed, but not particularly sorry; he did just apprehend one of the most notorious criminals in Miami. Petra waves him off, dismissing him and turns to Luisa, still in a hospital gown, looking thoroughly wreaked.

“So,” she gives Petra a weak smile. “The good news is I’m still actually sober and not hurt.”

Petra catches sight of Susanna in the hallway, looking longingly at Luisa while she speaks to some other officers.

“The bad news,” Luisa’s voice shakes, “is that I really _want_ to be as drunk as possible right now.” She crosses her arms and holds herself, looking very small and very sad. Petra moves over towards her as Michael and Jane step back, mostly into the hall, but within hearing range. “She said that she loved me. Like _loved me._ Like came to get me to run away together loves me. And… I just… I helped get her arrested! And Susanna arrested her!! And I’m…” she breaks off crying, and Petra very awkwardly puts her arms around Luisa’s shoulders. Her stomach is in the way of a better embrace. She moves to the left slightly, trying to hug Luisa from the side, but it just ends up feeling weirder. Petra sighs and gives up, Luisa isn’t paying any attention to it anyhow. She’s clinging to Petra and gasping through her tears. “I thought I was over this, but I’m really, really not.”

Petra sees Susanna come up to Michael and whisper something to him. Her eyes never leave Luisa once. Michael nods and says something to Jane before walking off with Susanna. Probably back to the precinct. Petra doesn’t know. She doesn’t care.

Jane hovers in the doorway for a moment, locking eyes with Petra. The question is easy to read: should she stay or go? Before Petra can say anything, Rafael comes bursting into the room.

“Is she okay?” he pants, looking around in a panic. His eyes are wild with fear. “Luisa,” he reaches out and grasps hold of her. “Are you…” his hands flex, almost afraid to touch her. “I’m… are you… what _happened?_ I got this call from Michael about an accident and then the nurse said there was an arrest, and Rose was being led out in handcuffs, and…” he finally grasps hold of her arm, and Luisa moves towards him. “Are you okay?” he whispers.

Luisa nods, then shakes her head no and moves into his arms. Rafael holds her much more naturally than Petra ever could, pregnant with twins or not. She relinquishes Luisa to him happily, but remains standing close by.

“It was a trick for Rose,” Petra explains. “She’s not hurt.”

“Physically,” Jane adds, moving over towards them. “The nurse said that she is allowed to leave whenever she wants. They’ve got her clothes, but it’s no rush.”

“I want to get out of here,” Luisa says, firm.

“Okay, do you… I mean…” Rafael trails off.

“Can we go get burgers?” Luisa asks him. “And those chocolates we always got as kids?”

Rafael sags with relief and smiles, kissing the top of his big sister’s head. “Yeah, I’m starving.” He turns to Petra and Jane. “Do you…”

Petra looks down at Luisa, and she smiles weakly, but shakes her head. “I couldn’t eat a hamburger right now if I tried. The smell alone might make me vomit, you two better go without us.”

Luisa reaches her hand out and squeezes Petra’s forearm in thanks. It’s about goddamn time Rafael pulled his head fully out of his ass when it comes to his sister. If a near death experience, falsified or not, is what finally does it, Petra doesn’t care.

She says so.

Rafael glares at her and Luisa laughs a little, brightening as she thanks a nurse for her clothes. Jane pinches Petra’s arm, then yanks her away into the hall.

“Have a great time eating burgers,” she calls out. “Super glad that everyone is okay! Talk to you later!” she pulls Petra down the hall and frowns at her. “Seriously?”

“What?” Petra shrugs. “It _is_ about time.”

“I agree!” Jane shuffles them into an Uber. “But maybe it wasn’t the best time to state your opinion on the matter.”

“I’m not apologizing,” Petra responds primly.

“I know!” Jane yells. “But still!”

They stare at each other as the car pulls out onto the road. Jane’s gaze slips from Petra’s, trailing down to her lips before meeting her eyes again. She inhales sharply before almost slamming herself into the opposite side of the backseat. She starts rambling about her latest class, and her advisor, that _idiot_ Jonathan, whom she won’t _shut up_ about. Petra rolls her eyes, annoyed with this entire day and all of Jane’s recent behavior. 

She keeps doing this, staring at Petra like… then dismissing it as quickly as she can. Going on and _on_ about ‘Jonathan this’ and ‘Jonathan that’. If Petra has to listen to Xiomara ask Jane about how sexy he is _one more time_ she might fucking explode.

“So, does that sound good to you?” Jane asks. “Petra?”

“Hum?”

“The grocery list,” Jane holds it up. “Is there anything else on it you need?” she frowns, aware of the fact that Petra hadn’t been listening at all.

“No, it’s fine.”

Jane bites at her lip, then sighs before turning to look out the window. “Okay,” she whispers. Saying nothing else.

…

…

“Maybe it’s just not realistic anymore,” Petra overhears Jane saying to Xiomara. “I mean, I have a baby. I’m not engaged to Michael anymore, and I’m not going to be. This virginity pledge was something that I made to Abuela when I was _ten_. It just… might not fit my life anymore.” She is clearly trying to sound as casual about this as possible, which makes it sound _incredibly_ awkward instead.

“I get that,” Xiomara tells her. Petra peers her head around the corner and sees them both folding laundry on top of the kitchen table.

“But, I _did_ make a promise…” Jane sounds torn.

“Janie, I’ve thought this whole thing was stupid from day one,” Xiomara whips Jane lightly with the shirt in her hands, getting her to smile. “It’s not breaking a promise. You’ve got a baby. If you want to get down and dirty with your professor I say go for it or I will,” she wiggles her eyebrows and Jane yelps.

“Ma!” she whips Xiomara back, not as lightly. “That’s not what I—he is not,” Jane huffs, looking incredibly flustered.

Petra feels nauseous. She knows that Jane has _sort of_ gone on one date with Jonathan. But she didn’t know that Jane was considering sleeping with him.

“That is _not_ what I meant,” Jane insists. “I just meant… in general. I was thinking of opening myself up to the _possibility._ ”

Xiomara hums in total disbelief.

“Ma!”

“Jane, he is _fine,_ ” she purrs. _“_ And it’s casual right now, which is what you wanted. It’s the perfect set up for your first time. I say go for it.”

“Of course you do,” Jane mutters.

Petra doesn’t want to listen to this anymore. She wishes that she never heard it in the first place. “Anybody home?” she calls out.

“In here!” Jane answers. “Hey,” she softens immediately as Petra moves into sight. “Sit,” she orders, jumping over to help Petra into a chair before moving to get her a glass of water.

“Petra,” Xiomara drawls out, her eyes focused on the pair of shorts in her hands. “What do you think about Jane sleeping with Professor Jonathan?” There is something curious in Xiomara’s tone, something that makes Petra’s spine straighten. When Xiomara looks up, ignoring Jane’s yelps of protest, she locks eyes with Petra, unwavering. It feels like a test, though Petra doesn’t understand why.

She gulps the water that Jane hands her gratefully, also ignoring Jane’s protests. She never drifts her eyes away from Xiomara.

“I think that if Jane wants to sleep with anyone, then she should. Other than that I have no opinion.”

“Really?” Xiomara goads.

“Really?” Jane asks, in a whisper.

Petra’s voice will shake if she speaks, so she shrugs and reaches out to help fold the laundry. Both women’s eyes remain on her for a few seconds more, Xiomara’s flitting back and forth between Petra and Jane. None of them say a thing. Jane stands between them, staring out the window, zoning out. Petra folds and folds and doesn’t move her eyes away from the laundry.

Finally, Xiomara clucks her tongue. “Well, then there you go. Now it’s just Mom’s opinion to worry about.”

Jane groans into her mother’s shoulder.

…

…

Xiomara and Rogelio break up.

He wants more children, Xiomara doesn’t. But, they’re still very obviously in love with each other.

It’s agonizing to watch them both scramble to be okay with their current situation. For a while, it’s almost as if nothing has changed, but that only hurts them both further. Jane is a mess. Desperately trying to show them both that she is on their side, not favoring one parent over the other.

It happens anyway. Jane lives with Xiomara, has always lived with Xiomara, and is far more in tuned to her mother than her father.

Rogelio is heartbroken and angry and Jane sobs into Petra’s arms until she falls asleep.

He’s too hurt to talk to Jane, despite all her apology texts and voice mails, so, for some idiotic reason, Petra goes over to his apartment. (She knows why. She’s ignoring why.)

She sizes up his new assistant as a nut job from the minute that she walks into the room. She tries to get Petra to leave far too aggressively, her demeanor shifting so dramatically once Rogelio steps into the room that it’s laughable. While Rogelio is pacing, going on and on about how much Jane’s absence at the premiere hurt him, Petra notices a syringe in his assistant’s hand.  

She rolls her eyes, and picks up a crystal… who knows what, and smacks the woman over the head with it.

“Petra!” Rogelio gasps. “Why did you _do that?”_ he rushes to the woman, (P-something? Petra wasn’t paying attention) and holds her head in his lap.

“She was about to drug you,” Petra holds up the syringe. “Then probably do the same to me.” She pulls out her cell phone and calls Michael. “We have… a situation at Rogelio’s.”

When Michael arrives, the assistant is no longer cuddled in Rogelio’s lap. Rogelio is pacing the apartment, (angrily this time instead of despondent) and Petra is lounging on his couch with his laptop.

Michael gapes at them both. “Petra… why is this our relationship?” he moans.

Petra turns the laptop screen around and shows it to Michael. “This woman was Rogelio’s stalker years ago. She was recently released from prison, changed her appearance and somehow became his assistant. There are enough drugs to knock out a buffalo hidden in her things. Along with handcuffs, and a number of… disturbing things. She was planning to kidnap him,” she informs Michael dryly. “I saved him,” she adds, glaring at Michael.

“She did!” Rogelio yells, reaching down and clutching Petra into a tight hug from behind the couch. She squirms. “She _saved me!_ We have a hero in our midst!” he runs around the couch and hugs her again. Petra momentarily regrets saving him.

Michael handcuffs the woman, gently moving her into a seated position and inspecting the back of her head. “What did you hit her with?”

“Whatever that thing is,” Petra points.

Rogelio gasps. _“Whatever that thing is?”_ he asks, pointing at it. _“That thing?”_ he begins laughing nervously. “It is not a _thing_ it is—”

“I really don’t care,” Petra cuts him off. “I need to use the bathroom, someone help me up,” she holds out her hands, waiting. Rogelio glares at her and clutches the crystal _thing_ to his chest as if she’s insulted his child, and Michael just stares at them both. “Unless you’d like me to urinate on this couch?” Petra snaps.  

Both men jump to her aid.

Rogelio won’t stop telling the entire world that Petra is his hero. Jane gives her the single tightest hug that Petra has ever experienced. (She is clearly her father’s daughter.) All the while hissing, _don’t’ ever do that again! You both could have been hurt! But also, thank you so, so much for saving my dad._

Petra rolls her eyes and informs all three Villanueva women that she just _knocked a woman out, it wasn’t a big deal._ They all appear to disagree with her, vehemently.

When Jane finally lets Petra go, Xiomara walks over to her, her eyes a little teary. She grasps Petra’s forearm and reaches over to kiss her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers, then walks away leaving Petra a little dazed. Alba places her hand over her heart and nods to Petra.

The Marbella’s social media pages gain over 20,000 new followers from Rogelio, so Petra is less annoyed. Being a hero appears to be good for business. They’re booked solid for dinners for the next two months. Rafael slow claps at her as she walks into her office, a tiny Pop Funko Supergirl figurine placed on the center of the desk.

Petra rolls her eyes. “Very funny.”

He bows at her, grinning like the cocky asshole that he is. “Just wanted to show my appreciation for the _hero_ in our midst.”

“I’m going to throw this toy at your head,” Petra threatens.

Rafael leaves her office laughing. Petra… leaves the toy where it is.

…

…

“So… I’m going out,” Jane announces. “With Jonathan.”

Petra looks up from her laptop. Jane looks… _gorgeous._ Petra inhales, unable to help herself, and Jane beams at her shyly. “Do I look okay?” she tugs at her dress.

“You look beautiful,” Petra tells her truthfully.

Jane inhales this time, locking eyes with Petra so quickly that it feels… almost panicked. Petra doesn’t move, doesn’t stop staring at Jane, doesn’t stop thinking about her going off to be with _fucking Jonathan._ Of all the things Petra was prepared for regarding Jane: Michael, Rafael, her family, _this man_ never crossed her mind.

Petra loathes him.

Jane is still staring at Petra, working at her bottom lip and almost, waiting for something else. For Petra to speak. She has nothing to say. She’s not going to tell Jane not to do this, it’s her choice. Her life. Their marriage is _fake._ Petra’s feelings are irrelevant. Jane certainly doesn’t return them, and Petra… Petra refuses to lose a friend, the closest thing she’s ever had to a family because of those feelings.

But god, if it doesn’t hurt.

“Petra?” Jane asks.

“What?”

Jane opens her mouth, then stops, at a loss for words. And Petra swallows, holding her gaze and willing herself not to cry. Jane looks near tears herself, which Petra doesn’t quite understand.

“I’m…” Jane trails off, tugging at her dress again. “I’m going now,” it sounds like a question. Petra wants to scream as Jane looks at her, almost helplessly.

A silence falls between them and solidifies somewhere around Petra’s diaphragm, then—

“Fine,” she says, looking back down to her computer. “Have fun.”

She doesn’t look up at Jane’s face again.

…

…

Rafael almost kisses her.

They’re working late, and it feels… almost like it used to. Almost like the first time that she was pregnant. They’re closer now than they’ve been in years, easy with each other. Petra knows Rafael, probably better than she’s ever allowed herself to know anyone. It’s so easy to fall back into themselves. Teasing and working and then…

Not-Kissing.

 _Almost_ kissing. He leans in, not even realizing it until their faces are too close. The surprise on his face must be matching on her own, because he pulls back, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I…”

“It’s okay,” Petra tells him. Unsure exactly how she feels about it. About the face that she had been leaning back in to. On instinct.

Maybe?

Rafael gets up off the couch, grabbing their glasses and going to refill them in the sink. Jane is… doing who knows what with her advisor. Possibly they’ve already slept together. Months ago, _this_ is exactly what Petra wanted. The whole reason she impregnated herself in the first place. She wanted Rafael.

She looks over at him and doesn’t know what to think. She tries to picture it, herself and the twins, back here, with him. It’s not a bad picture. It’s a nice one even.

It feels like settling.

Petra pushes herself off of the couch, this is more than she can deal with right now. “I should get going,” she says, grabbing her purse. “It’s late.”

“Okay,” Rafael says stiffly.

Neither of them make eye contact with each other.

…

…

Jane told Jonathan about her virginity pledge to her grandmother, and killed the mood when they had been about to have sex. Alba told her not to worry, or to be ashamed, _never_ ashamed. Never worried what she may think. Never to be worried that she would judge Jane for anything.

Petra knows this because Alba says the exact same thing to her. The next morning, she grabs Petra’s face and tells her that she would never judge her either before kissing her forehead and going off to work.

Petra sits in the empty kitchen feeling like she’s just been punched. She doesn’t know which information to process first, that Jane didn’t sleep with Jonathan, but _wanted to,_ or that Alba basically accepted Petra into this family?

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t want to think about either thing. So, she _refuses._ She pushes everything down and goes to work herself, snapping at so many people that three employees cry before Rafael shoves her into Luisa’s suite for the afternoon.

Petra refuses to talk about her feelings, no matter how much Luisa prods. She turns the tables back on Luisa, asking her how are things with Rose and Susanna?

“Not fair,” Luisa pouts. “But I do need to talk about it,” she curls up next to Petra’s _very_ pregnant self and pours her heart out. She’s been going to meetings every day. She _thinks_ that she is finally starting to really get over Rose, but she’s not ready to get back together with Susanna yet.

She was right to break up with Luisa. She needs to work on herself, and getting closure.

Petra dryly applauds her maturity and Luisa beams.

“I know that was sarcastic, but I’m taking it as a compliment.”

“It can be both,” Petra argues.

Luisa’s smile grows. Reluctantly, the sides of Petra’s lips tug upwards in return.

…

…

Rafael blows Petra off, again.

She tracks him down at The Marbella’s pool, watching the synchronized swimmers for a new event.

“Rafael!” she yells.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, though not taking his eyes of the swimmers to look at her. “Mateo had a swimming class and I—”

“Are my children always going to come second to Mateo and Jane?” Petra snaps. “Because if they are, I want to know _now._ I want to know not to count on you. If you can’t show up at a doctor’s appointment when you say that you will then—”

“No,” he promises, finally turning to her. “They’re not. I’m sorry I missed the appointment. I was out late with my brother, and then I remembered Mateo’s lesson at the last minute, and I forgot the appointment until it was too late. I’m sorry.”

He looks it. Which is the only reason that Petra metaphorically retracts her claws. Finding out that he has a brother has been a shocking revelation for everyone. Petra doesn’t like Derek. She has no rational reasoning for it other than he appears to be a pompous asshole. And that his appearance in Rafael’s life has shaken an already fragile Luisa.

Also, Michael doesn’t trust him.

So, that’s three solid reasons right there.

Not to mention this is the second time since he’s appeared that Rafael has blown Petra off for something.

“Don’t let it happen again,” Petra threatens. Her interactions with Rafael are still a little weird; the Not-Kiss constantly filling in the space between them.

“It won’t,” Rafael promises, reaching out and clasping his hand into hers. Petra tries to let herself believe him.

…

…

Petra wakes up, desperately needing to use the restroom. She’s surprised to find that the other side of the bed is empty. It’s nearly midnight. Jane was here when she fell asleep. (Around eight-thirty, because she is seven goddamn months pregnant and _exhausted_ all of the time.)

Petra tip toes out of the bedroom and down the hall, slipping into the bathroom and relieving herself. When she’s done washing her hands, she slips out, quietly so as not to wake up anyone else.

Which is apparently wholly unnecessary.

On her way back to the bedroom, she hears voices in the living room. Frowning, Petra moves to see what’s going on, but freezes at the sound of Jane’s voice.

“I started sobbing!” she whisper-yells. “I ran over there _without any pants!_ A police officer pulled me over _without pants!_ And then I jumped on him!”

“The police officer?” a tired Xiomara asks in surprise.

“No!” Jane hisses. “Jonathan.”

Petra _does not_ want to hear this, but there is no way she can make it back to the bedroom without alerting them both to her presence. The floorboard right before Jane’s room squeaks.

“Ma, I don’t know what I was thinking,” Jane sounds more miserable than Petra has ever heard her. It’s concerning. Petra can’t see her face, but she can tell from her voice that she’s crying.

“Jane,” Xiomara says very carefully. “Did he… do something?”

Petra stops breathing.

“No!” Jane actually yells. “No,” she repeats, much quieter but just as firmly. “No, Ma that wasn’t—we were making out and then I just, started sobbing. I don’t know why. It was so weird. I told him to just ignore it because I wanted… I wanted to just do it you know? I’d decided that I wanted to do it, and that I wanted to do it with him, and then I just… broke down. It was so embarrassing. He was _so freaked out._ Oh my God, what was I thinking!? He’s my advisor! I can’t ever speak to him again!”

Petra desperately, _desperately_ wants not to be listening to this.

“Jane,” Xiomara pauses. “What were you feeling?”

“What?”

“I mean, was it guilt? Because Ma said that she wouldn’t be upset if you had sex.”

“No,” Jane insists. “No it wasn’t that… I don’t think. It wasn’t…” Petra hears her suck in a deep breath, still crying but stubbornly trying not to be. “I was picturing someone else I think,” she admits, so quietly that Petra isn’t sure that she heard correctly. “Or I was… it just didn’t feel right. It was so embarrassing. Clearly, I’m not ready and I just—I can’t believe that I have to face him tomorrow morning.”

“Someone else?” Xiomara asks. “Who were you—”

“I’m exhausted Ma,” Jane interrupts. “I really don’t want to talk about this anymore." 

Xiomara is silent for a moment, then she says quietly, “Okay.”

The minute they both stand up and make noise, Petra bolts into her bedroom. She climbs back into bed quicker than she’s managed in months and pulls the covers over herself. Jane tip toes into the room only seconds after Petra squeezes her eyes shut and evens out her breath.

Jane is still sniffling a little. Petra hears her check on Mateo, then the bed dips and Jane slips under the covers. A hand reaches towards Petra’s back, then hesitates and is pulled away. Petra feels Jane roll away from her and try to calm herself down.

Neither of them get much sleep.

…

…

Rafael bursts into her office, trying to kiss her again and going on and on about them being a family, and wanting this, and they should just go for it.

Petra pushes him away when he leans in. “Jane rejected you, didn’t she?”

It’s all over his face. In every frenzied assurance of _family._ He’s desperate. He might have almost kissed Petra a week ago, but he has been holding out for Jane for _months._

And Jane must have finally rejected him.

Petra… doesn’t know what to feel about that. She feels too many things. But one thing, she is absolutely sure off. “I won’t be anyone’s second choice,” she tells Rafael. “And I won’t let my daughters be either.”

When Rafael leaves her office, upset and reeling from being doubly rejected, Petra stands there and takes a moment to feel proud of herself. A year ago, maybe even less than that, if Rafael had come running in here promising they could be a family, she would have jumped on it. Even knowing that he would have always wanted Jane more. First.

Jane doesn’t love Michael, or Rafael. She didn’t sleep with Jonathan. But, that doesn’t actually mean anything. Petra isn’t going to let herself hope and be disappointed.

She’s done being anyone’s second choice. Petra looks down at the Supergirl figurine Rafael got her weeks ago and smiles. She lets herself feel proud.


	12. hello, little girl(s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little bit of this during the delivery near the end is inspired by a tumblr post that made me scream a few months ago.

Rafael is being… well, familiar. He is back to his old self: staying out all night drinking with his brother, being short with everyone, a trail of woman after woman slipping out of his room each morning, disheveled and barely dressed.

He’s being an ass.

It’s disconcerting. Jane has never seen him act like this before, and she is obviously thrown by the way he contradicts the image of him that she has in her head. Though, from what Petra can tell, right now she’s too busy to notice much more than him being distant and a little mopey from the sting of her rejection. But Petra was married to the man for five years. Sure, the double rejection has a lot to do with his recent behaviors, but that newfound brother of his is enabling all of the worst parts of Rafael. When he comes back to The Marbella, clearly still drunk, and actually teases Luisa about whether or not she wants a drink, Petra is done letting him blow off some steam.

She is about to have the twins _any day now_ according to five separate professional opinions, and she _cannot_ deal with Rafael going off the rails _and_ two newborns.

“You’re being an ass,” she says as she lets herself into his office unannounced. He flinches at the sound of her voice. His eyes bloodshot, hair disheveled, clothes haphazardly put on. Petra rolls her eyes.

“Petra,” he sighs, dropping his forehead into his hands.

“Look at me,” Petra says, wholly unsympathetic. “You’re spiraling. Which, I understand, but I’m sorry to say I don’t have any time for. These babies are coming. Soon. And I can’t do this without you Rafael. I can’t have you out all night with your ass of a brother,” she snaps her fingers in front of his face and he actually whines, but looks up at her. “I need you to get your shit together. Not for me, but for your daughters,” she gestures to her bulging stomach. _Every_ part of her body hurts. At this point, she is beyond ready for this pregnancy to be over, no matter how terrified she is of motherhood. She is _done_ being pregnant.

“Petra, you—”

“Do I look like someone to argue with right now?” she asks. Rafael straightens, just barely. “I’m full term with twins. Do you have any idea how rare that is?” she snorts. “I’m a medical friggin’ marvel.”

Rafael sighs and runs a hand through his hair, trying to make it look presentable. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I’ve been… going through a lot.”

“I know,” Petra softens herself as much as she can, which isn’t much.

It must be enough for Rafael to notice her efforts, because he gives her a (very weak) smile and buzzes for his assistant to please get him some coffee and water. “I know you’re worried, but you don’t have to be,” he promises. “I’ll be there for the twins. I promise.”

“You better,” Petra snaps, but there’s not a lot of bite to it.

…

…

The thing is, Petra is falling into full on panic mode. Rafael’s assurances are halfhearted at best, and _any day now_ she is just… going to go into labor. She’s taken to walking very slowly and crossing her legs as much as possible, as if somehow that could somehow stave off the inevitable.

The inevitable that she both desperately wants to just get over with, and hopes somehow never ends up actually happening.

It’s not just the prospect of the twins actually being here, real human beings that she will be completely responsible for, but all the upheaval that comes with them.

Jane, and her family.

No one has said anything to her yet, but Petra can’t imagine actually continuing to stay at the Villanueva household with the twins. Rafael has cribs set up in his suite at The Marbella, but… there isn’t much room for two more cribs in Jane’s room. Or the living room. It’s not a large house. All of her conversations with Jane imply that Petra and the twins will still be there, and she goes on and on about baby things all of the time, but… Petra can’t picture it.

She’s preparing herself for the inevitable move back to The Marbella.

Which, might end up being a good thing. Petra’s feelings for Jane don’t seem to be dissipating at all. If anything, they seem to be growing stronger and stronger. And, Ivan is dead. Milos is out of the country. He’s no longer the immediate threat that he once was.

Petra is effectively, out of danger. Has been for quite some time now, but, no one has mentioned it for months, Petra included.

This was always supposed to be a temporary thing.

Petra’s hates the very idea of it anyway.

…

…

She’s taken Jane’s suggestion of therapy a few weeks ago to heart. Petra knows, there are… a lot of issues (especially regarding her mother) that she needs help working out.

The therapist that she finally decides on is a woman in her early forties named Dr. Laura Villafañe. (Petra tries four others before finally settling on her.) Dr. Villafañe’s hourly rate is incredibly expensive. Jane almost falls down when Petra tells her the amount, choking on nothing but air. _Expensive means that you get your money’s worth Jane. I’m not just going to go to some hack._

She’s almost unfairly gorgeous, and kind. So much so that Petra very nearly turns right around and decides that actually, six will be her lucky number instead of five. But she convinces Petra to stay until the end of the session, _you’re legally paying for the whole hour anyway,_ and it turns out that she’s also whip smart and sarcastic in a way that makes Petra respect and listen to her. A mixture of a little tough love and actual kindness.

Petra has a thought during their third session together, that if you smushed all three Villanueva women into one woman, Laura Villafañe is what you might get. Her surname is even close enough, which, somehow only comes to Petra’s attention in this very minute. She’s not sure what to make of that. Petra doesn’t tell her any of this information until their fifth session, once she’s more sure of it.

She… still hates therapy. In the sense that no matter what, it takes a large amount of sitting on a very comfortable couch, picking at her mug of tea while Dr. Villafañe sits across from her, perfectly content, waiting until Petra’s either annoyed enough by the silence to delve into a rant, or a slew of subtle questions manipulated just so in order to get Petra to open up about anything.

But, Petra continues to show up. Every Tuesday at two o’clock in the afternoon. Fiddling with the mood ring that’s still on her finger. (Its matching one still residing on Jane’s.)

And _that_ conversation had gone over more smoothly that Petra had expected. _I’m married, technically. But it’s a fake marriage. My friend married me to help me get out of another marriage that my ex-boyfriend was trying to blackmail me into. It’s a very long and complicated story. It’s also probably not the weirdest thing I’ll tell you._

Dr. Villafañe quirks one eyebrow. “Huh.”

It’s much easier to talk about her sham of a marriage, even some of her real feelings towards Jane, than it is to talk about her mother.

She hates it, but it feels like progress every time she walks out of the door at three o’clock.

…

…

“Are you KIDDING ME?” Xiomara screams as Petra walks into the house. She freezes, wondering what she could have _possibly_ done wrong, before Xiomara screams again and it becomes apparent that it isn’t directed towards Petra. “YOU HAD SEX BEFORE MARRIAGE? _You?”_

Petra whips her head towards Jane. Both baffled by the thought of Xiomara being angry about this, and horrified to know that it finally happened with someone.

(Not her.)

But Jane looks just as shocked as Petra feels, and is looking over at her grandmother. Petra turns her head very slowly.

Alba’s head is hanging down, not looking any of them in the eye, near tears. Xiomara is brandishing a piece of paper in her mother’s face, more furious than Petra has ever seen her.

“I can’t believe you,” her voice cracks. “After everything you said to me. You _lied._ You lied and you made me feel like shit for being a woman who likes sex for _years_ Ma.” Xiomara throws the paper at her mother, and it floats down to the floor, agonizingly slow. Alba doesn’t look at it once. Xiomara storms out of the room in tears, and Jane gives Alba a look that’s somehow both incredibly disappointed, and slightly apologetic before running after her mother, leaving Petra and Alba standing alone in opposite sides of the room.

Petra opens her mouth once, then closes it. Alba moves to sit down at the kitchen table and continues crying, ignoring, or not caring about Petra’s presence. She should do something. Walk over and comfort Alba. Tell her that everything will be fine. That there is _no way_ that Jane will remain angry with her. She adores her. Xiomara… whatever exactly it is that she’s angry about, she’ll come around. She is dramatic and impulsive, but she loves deeply. Anyone who spends ten minutes with Xiomara and Alba can see just how much Xo loves her mother.

Petra can’t seem to get her feet to move. Her mouth won’t open. She feels like an intruder, for the first time in months she feels like she should not be here. None of them have acknowledged her presence yet, maybe she can just slip out, get a room at The Marbella, and call it a night.

Preparing for the inevitable.

But, Alba has held Petra while she cried. Covered her with blankets. Made her tea. Slowed down her words so that Petra could try to follow the foreign language falling out of her mouth. Smiled, cupped Petra’s face in her hands, and squeezed her shoulders. Has purposely been late to work in order to make Petra breakfast. Held her hair back while she’s thrown up. Hummed Spanish lullabies towards her growing belly.

Made her feel loved more than any adult woman in Petra’s life. Made her feel wanted.

She’s done something wrong, that much is apparent from the look on Jane’s face, and the anguish in Xiomara’s voice. These women do not fight with each other often. Bickering, squabbles, small everyday matters of human beings who love each other and share space, but this feels bigger than that.

Petra’s done many things wrong in her life, some of them to Alba personally. She knows what that shame feels like.

She sets down her purse and walks over to the kitchen table. It takes her a moment to lower herself down into the chair beside Alba, but once she does, she takes one of Alba’s hands in her own. She doesn’t say, _it will be okay,_ or, _you didn’t do anything wrong,_ or, _they’ll forgive you. You know that they will._ Though, some of these things are probably true. She squeezes Alba’s hand once, then rubs small circles with her thumb on the soft spot between Alba’s thumb and pointer finger. Over and over. Alba cries, and Petra holds her hand.

They’re in the exact same spot when Jane comes looking for them fifty-six minutes later. Petra desperately has to pee, but she is unwilling to leave Alba alone. At least, not until she gives Petra some sort of sign that it’s alright, or that she wants to be.

Jane stills at the sight of them, and suddenly Petra is worried that she has somehow mistakenly chosen sides without knowing all of the facts. But then Jane’s shoulders sag in relief and she mouths ‘ _thank you’_ to Petra before walking over to Alba and kissing her cheek.

Alba finally jolts into life, and she seems surprised to be surrounded by both of them.

“Abuela?” Jane prods.

Petra takes this opportunity to slip her hand away and head towards the bathroom, not feeling as much like an intruder as she had when first walked inside, but still feeling like she should give them some privacy.

She doesn’t see either Xiomara or Alba again for the rest of the evening. Both women stay closed up in their rooms, Jane knocking on each door with a bowl of soup around seven-thirty.  

Later, she explains the emails to a man named Pablo that Xiomara found by accident. Details they never knew about Alba’s past. Hypocrisy and shame directed towards Xiomara since her teenage years, purposefully or not.

“I mean, I understand where she was coming from,” Jane says as they climb into bed, Mateo finally asleep. “She didn’t want Ma to go through what she went through. A whole town shaming a teenage girl?” Jane shakes her head in disgust, rubbing some lotion into her hands. “I can’t imagine. But, she ended up sort of _being_ that town to Ma you know?”

Petra nods. “My mother constantly told me that sex was incredibly painful for women, and to keep my legs closed or she’d sew them closed. Never a lot of sex positivity in my house.”

Jane rubs her hands much too hard, gnawing at her bottom lip. “Have I mentioned lately how glad I am that she’s back in jail, and how proud I am for you going into therapy?”

Petra chuckles. “Not for a week or so.”

“Well, I’m very glad that she is back in jail. And I’m so proud of you for going to therapy.”

Petra rolls her eyes.

The two of them settle in, a familiar routine that Petra is going to miss once she’s gone. She’s gotten so used to the sound of Jane’s gentle breathing. The way that their stubble will scratch each other’s legs sometimes in the night. The slight jolt of their backs or asses bumping together that causes them to shift to make room for the other, never fully waking. Jane’s elbows or knees, jamming into Petra and jolting her awake, usually just as she needs to get up to pee. Climbing back into the bed after using the bathroom in the middle of the night, to Jane, still asleep, curling into Petra like she’s a heat blanket. Her arms snaking around Petra without embarrassment or thought, fitting together almost perfectly. Jane’s hair in her mouth, choking her awake, or tickling her nose till she swats at it, waking Jane and falling back to sleep herself. Another person beside her, sometimes lovingly, sometimes annoyingly. It’s comfortable in a way that Petra never thought it could be. Even when she occasionally farts in her sleep.

Petra is going to miss it all.

Jane saved her from Milos. From a stifling blackmail marriage to an abusive man. From Alba and Xiomara’s ire and frustrations. From her mother. From her idiotic notion that other women are anything but her competition in life. From her fears of casual intimacy. From the idea that she can never allow herself to be viewed as vulnerable, or a little gross. Even, somewhat, from her fears of motherhood. Jane saved her.

Petra watches Jane curl up and face her, smiling up at Petra and laughing a little. “What?”

Petra shakes her head and turns off the lamp, settling down bedside Jane. They don’t do this often, face each other this way. Not while falling asleep. Not intentionally. They wake up like this often, no longer embarrassed or awkward about it. But they never start out this way. Petra savors it, tucking her hand up underneath her cheek and unabashedly staring back at Jane. She slinks down a little, her eyes glancing away and back to Petra’s own. Her face is flushed, Petra is close enough that she can tell, even in the dark. They lock eyes, and Jane’s widen, their faces closer than they have ever been before. Petra does not breathe. Neither of them move for a beat, then Jane laughs nervously and shifts backwards a little.

“Goodnight Petra,” she hums, something like an apology in her eyes. It’s unnecessary. Jane has done so much; Petra has never expected more.

“Goodnight Jane,” she whispers. She means, _thank you._ She means, _I love you._ She means, _you saved me._

Jane beams.

Not saved, changed, it's not the same thing.

…

…

It takes a few days, and more than a few conversations and apologies, but, Xiomara and Alba are almost back to their usual selves. Xiomara turns her attention to getting her mother to date this Pablo that man she loved as a girl, and Jane and Petra sigh with relief.

Rafael, on the other hand is still being incredibly weird, and Petra has had enough of it. As much as it pains her, Jane can get him to do things with much less background manipulation than she can, and she is in no mood to be patient. There’s been an annoying twinge in her lower back since she woke up, and it doesn’t seem to be going away so much as getting worse.

Jane, has been on the phone with Michael on and off since last night. Petra doesn’t remember when she came to bed, her stomach had been bothering her the night before, and she conked out early. Whatever Jane is wrapped up in, it’s holding all of her attention.

Petra walks into the kitchen and stands directly in front of Jane. “So, there is this Lamaze class this afternoon,” she waits.

Jane is distracted, flipping through a book and highlighting passages and checking her writing on her laptop. “Huh,” she hums, glancing up at Petra quickly before looking back down and huffing at the book.

The twinge in Petra’s back is moving towards her groin. She shifts, annoyed and blows some hair out of her face. It is far too hot today already. “Rafael isn’t coming with me,” she says, rather loudly. “If I go alone I’ll be sitting there with all those smug judgy moms staring at me.”

Jane finally looks up, a little amused. Hiding back a smirk, she asks, “Petra, are you asking me if I’ll go with you?” she raises her eyebrows.

Petra, still not… exactly great at things like this, which is why she didn’t just walk up to Jane and ask, _will you come to a Lamaze class with me?_ She frowns and shuffles around some of Jane’s papers.

Jane’s not hiding her smirk any longer. She pointedly places her highlighter on top of the book and clasps her hands together on top of it, waiting.

Petra huffs. Not making eye contact, she says, “I don’t want to go alone.”

Jane waits.

Petra lets out a loud breath through her nose. “Would you?”

Jane rolls her eyes fondly and rises from her seat. “Sure Petra, I’d be happy to.” She grabs her book and papers along with her purse, calling over her shoulder for Xiomara to please check on Mateo in an hour.

“I have a car,” Petra announces once they’ve stepped out of the house.

“What? Since when?”

“Since… I don’t know, I bought one.” Petra points to the monstrosity. It’s not elegant, or entirely practical. Something like a minivan, or an SUV would have been practical. But it is _big._ It can fit three car seats and still have room for at least five other adults. Six if they squeezed in. Petra bought it with Luisa yesterday, largely on a whim. It’s an ugly boat-like beast of a thing, with surprisingly fantastic gas mileage. Petra has never owned a car before. She barely ever drives.

“Wow,” Jane exclaims. “It’s huge.”

“Yep,” Petra situates herself behind the driver’s seat with some great difficulty.

“Do you want me to drive?” Jane asks warily.

“No,” Petra grunts, and they go flying backwards. Jane lets out a squeak and holds on to the dashboard. Then, they’re on the road. “So, I got you into this car under false pretenses,” Petra admits upfront. She clicks all the locks for dramatic effect. “It’s childproof,” she explains when Jane tries to unlock her door.

“Petra!” Jane grips the handle above her head and closes her eyes as Petra yanks the car into the next lane. “Where are we going? And why did you lie about it?”

“I need your help with Rafael,” Petra admits. “And I know you’ve been kind of avoiding spending much time with him since you rejected him. For, space or whatever,” Petra waves her hand around and Jane yelps. _Hands on the wheel!!!_ Admittedly, Petra might need to brush up on her driving a bit before she goes anywhere with the twins.

“Help how?” Jane asks. “Red light. RED LIGHT!”

“I see it!” Petra snaps, slamming on the brakes.

Jane _crosses_ herself. Petra rolls her eyes and explains all of Rafael’s recent dickishness and her concerns about Derek. Jane actually gasps and interrupts her partway through. “I didn’t tell you about Michael did I?” she sighs. “I’m sorry, I thought I did. I’ve just been so wrapped up in—” she glances down at the papers in her lap and shakes her head. “Never mind. I’m sorry. I thought you knew, Rafael’s working with Michael. They’re trying to catch Derek in a lie and see if he’s working with his mother. Their mother. Mutter or whatever. That’s why he’s been going out so much with him. He’s wearing a wire-ish-thing and reporting back to Michael.”

“Are you kidding me?” Petra huffs. She’s pulled the car over to the curb. (Thankfully, because both her hands have been off of the wheel, grinding her palms into a weird pain in her inner thighs for the last minute.) Now she smacks the radio on and flicks some hair out of her eyes.

“Sorry, I really thought I told you,” Jane apologizes.

Petra waves her off. “Whatever, it’s good to know.”

The radio host starts talking about that romance writer that Jane loves so much, Angelique Harper, and Jane actually lets out a tiny scream of frustration. “Ugh!”

“What? Don’t you love her?”

“She _stole my idea!”_ Jane grits through her teeth. Smacking against her manuscript for effect.

“What?”

“Remember that time she came to The Marbella, and Rafael proposed to me at her reading. And it was… horrible actually,” she winces, and Petra grits her teeth together at the reminder. “Anyway, I accidentally gave her a massage, and she read my manuscript. And _now_ the plot of her new book is, _totally stolen from mine!_ And she’s at a reading here in Miami today and I was going to go and confront her, because seriously, that is _so_ unprofessional and incredibly rude!” Jane smacks the book for effect again.

“You gave her a massage?”

“ _That’s_ what you’re focusing on?”

“No,” Petra puts the car back in drive, and whips out away from the curb, Jane screaming and grasping at the handle and the dash. “That bitch is not allowed to steal your idea and make money off of it! Especially not since it’s the book you’ve been working so hard on for so long. She doesn’t get to take that away from you! We’re going to that book signing right now.”

“Really?” Jane sounds shocked.

“YES really,” Petra presses down harder on the gas and Jane grips the door handle tighter, the whites of her knuckles showing.

“I just… you seem… very angry on my behalf.” Petra hears her suck in a breath, as if preparing or calming herself for something. “Like, protective,” she adds, very softly.

Something seems to pass between them as Jane waits for Petra to reply, a subtle rearranging of air. Petra does not take her eyes off the road. “I’m pregnant with twins and looking to yell at someone,” she finally says, wishing that something else had come out of her mouth. _Of course I’m angry on your behalf._ She grips the wheel tightly and swerves the car into a hard left turn. “Don’t make a thing about it,” she adds. Jane gives her an odd look. A mixture of fondness and hurt, and Petra hits the gas pedal _just_ a little harder.

It’s a thing.

…

…

Not five minutes into waiting in line at the bookstore, Petra waddles into the children’s section and steals a chair from a six year old. The boy pouts and glares at her, and Petra rolls her eyes and tells him to sit on the damn floor like half the other children. A woman looks up shocked and Petra only rolls her eyes further. “He’s young, and I’m pregnant. He’ll be fine,” then she takes her spot back in line beside Jane.

“Where’d you get the chair?”

“The story room,” Petra sets it up and very happily lowers herself down into it. That twinge in her back has moved into her lower stomach, like cramps. Petra shifts, wishing she’d taken some Advil or something this morning when she noticed it. “Alright, what are you going to say?” Petra asks.

“What? Why? I don’t know if—”

“Jane, you need to practice. This line is going to take forever. We can use it as our prep time. We’ve got to toughen you up.”

Jane looks momentarily annoyed by this, but then sucks in a breath, nods, and starts speaking rapidly, but very succinctly. She’s making some good arguments, but she’s terrible at holding eye contact with Petra as she goes on. She finishes, with another nod, as if to say, _the end._ It’s more to herself than to Petra. Not a strong finish, it makes her look unsure of herself.

“Good,” Petra tells her. “But don’t get so fired up that you’re pacing around or using too many hand gestures. Different kind of argument. We need to drop your voice another octave, and never lose the eye contact,” she demonstrates. “Calm. Quiet. It’s always much scarier.”

Jane tilts away from her slightly. “Yeah,” her eyes widen. “I see that. It’s a little creepy.”

Petra smirks at her and Jane laughs, the tension seeping out of her shoulders for a moment. They’re much closer to the end of the line now, and the cramps are getting worse and worse, no matter how much Petra shifts around. She holds her hands up without a word and Jane helps her up out of the plastic children’s chair. Maybe standing will help. More movement at least. That always helped a little when she had cramps while on her period.

Instead, when Petra rises, there’s a horrible flicker of pain in her abdomen and she hunches over. “Petra?” Jane grabs her in worry and Petra yells a little when it happens again, breathing hard. “Oh my God,” Jane whispers. “You’ve been making weird faces all day, and shifting around like your back’s bothering you,” she frowns in disapproval. “You’ve been in pain and haven’t said anything, haven’t you?”

“Not,” Petra groans. “Not like _this.”_

“Is she in labor?” a woman in line asks.

“No!” Petra yells back. She is not ready to be in labor. She’s still doubled over, clutching at Jane’s forearms and trying to breathe. “It’s… I’m fine,” she breathes hard and tries to straighten herself, pulling out her phone. “I’ll call an Uber and get checked out at the hospital. It’s probably just weird cramps or something. You confront Angelique and drive my car home.”

“What? _No!_ Petra I’m not leaving you—” Jane looks over at Angelique a little forlornly, then shakes her head and squeezes Petra’s arms. “I’m not leaving you,” she repeats. “Not while you go into labor. This… that doesn’t matter as much.”

It _does._ Jane’s novel is everything to her. Years of hard work on and off. Stolen by some haggard old cow who can’t come up with a new idea to titillate her readers. It’s Jane’s career. It’s everything she’s ever wanted. Petra is not letting some bitch with a bad dye job take it away from Jane.

“My water didn’t break,” she argues, pointing down at the dry (ugly) carpeted floor. 

“Well… that’s actually kind of rare,” another woman adds.

“What?” Petra looks up at Jane. “What did it feel like when your water broke?” she asks. Then she tenses up, a weird feeling between her legs, as if by naming it, she’s brought it on. Like a witch’s curse. Her mother always warned her about things like that. Old Country superstition.

“It didn’t actually,” Jane admits. “She’s right, it _is_ kind of rare. Only like 15% of women have their water break all over their legs like that. Or even break at all. It’s just a really great dramatic moment for TV and movies,” she shrugs apologetically at Petra, who groans again in pain and fear.  

“I… don’t…” her whole body feels weird.

“Mine broke,” a third woman supplies.

“What did it feel like?” Petra pleads, hoping beyond hope that she says literally anything that doesn’t resemble what is happening to her body right now.

The woman shrugs. “Sort of like I was peeing.”

“OH MY GOD, I FEEL LIKE I’M PEEING,” Petra yells in a panic, slapping at Jane’s arms. “I FEEL LIKE I’M PEEING!”

Jane snaps into attention, wrapping her arms around Petra and supporting her as they slowly make their way out of the store. “Out of the way people,” she yells. “Woman having a baby. Two babies!”

…

…

Jane gets them to the hospital quickly, reassuring Petra the whole drive over. It doesn’t help. She’s _terrified_ and everything feels loose and weird, like someone came and cracked all of her joints in one hard motion.

The doctors shuffle her in rather quickly and the next thing she knows, she’s in a hospital gown, her hair tied up into a messy bun with one of Jane’s hair ties, and she’s having contractions. She’s been having them all morning. That was the fucking twinge.

“Michael is trying to drive Rafael here,” Jane informs her, stepping back into Petra’s delivery room. “But there’s some horrible accident on the highway, and they’re stuck in traffic. But, he’s on his way! And I’m here until then.”

Petra hisses and bends over, holding onto one of the beds for the babies to support herself. “Goddammit,” she whines. “I want drugs. I want druuuuugs.”

Jane walks over and rubs at her back. “The doctor will be right back.”

As if on cue, the man walks into the room. He frowns at them both apologetically. “I’m sorry Mrs. Villanueva, you can’t have an epidural. Your blood tests indicate that your platelet levels are too low, it’s too risky.”

Petra makes a face. “Any wiggle room on that?”

“Um…” the doctor looks confused.

“Look, if there’s a 50% chance I won’t die, I’d like to go for it,” Petra says firmly.

Jane lets out a panicked chuckle and jumps over towards Petra. “She’s kidding.”

“No, I’m not kidding,” Petra says immediately. This hurts enough already, she does not want it to get any worse. They are nipping this in the bud, right _now_.

“Petra, you can do this,” Jane says before quickly turning to the doctor. “She can do this. Thank you.”

As if dismissed, he walks out of the room. Leaving Petra alone without any drugs, and a far too chipper for the current situation Jane.

“I wanted those drugs.”

“You do not get to have them. Thousands of women gave birth before the epidural was invented. Your body knows what to do. You’ll be fine.” Jane smiles and pulls out her manuscript. “Want me to distract you?”

Petra groans and hunches over again as another contraction hits. “I want the druuuuuuugs.”

Jane starts reading from her fucking book.

…

…

Petra bounces on a workout ball and screams.

Jane clucks her tongue in disappointment as she receives another text from Rafael, informing them that he and Michael are in a standstill of traffic. Jane says something about Michael and Rafael, and how odd it is to have people that she’s dated together and being finally being friendly, and something else that Petra really isn’t capable of listening to fully right now.

“Let the past goooooo,” she whines through another (thankfully much smaller) bout of pain.

Jane snorts. “Says the woman who artificially inseminated herself with her ex’s sperm.”

“Trust me, I’m regretting that now.”

Jane laughs and Petra finds herself smiling along with her.

Then, another contraction hits and Petra starts screaming. Bouncing and screaming while Jane hurriedly picks up her book and starts to read again.

…

…

Petra paces the room and screams.

Jane yells out the lines in her book over the screaming.

Petra screams louder.

…

…

“Okay, let’s check your dilatation shall we?” the doctor peers between Petra’s legs, and she always thought that it would be awkward and uncomfortable, but she just does not give a shit right now. “Looks like we’re at about six centimeters,” his head appears in Petra’s view. He pats at her thigh gently. “About halfway there!”

“Jít vysrat,” Petra hisses at him.

Jane shrugs and smiles, thanking him before turning back to Petra and flipping the page on her book. “So, where were we?”

Petra screams.

…

…

“Oh my God,” Jane stops reading and gasps, flicking back and forth between her papers.

“What?” Petra asks, bent over and using the IV stand for balance.

Jane checks something on her phone, then drops her hands into her lap. “Angelique Harper didn’t rip off my novel idea. It’s a reworking of Twelfth Night. So is mine,” Jane shakes her head in disbelief. “I’m such an idiot.”

“No you are not,” Petra snaps.

Jane gives her a weak smile. “Thanks. I still can’t use this plot anymore though. It’s still too similar to her new one. Riffing off of Shakespeare or not.”

“You’ll fix it. Or, you have a better idea. Ten times better. Twelfth Night is probably stupid anyway, what one is that? Where he sleeps with his mother?”

“No, you’re thinking of Oedipus. That’s not Shakespeare. Othello is Shakespeare, which is probably what you mean. Nobody in Shakespeare sleeps with their mother.”

“Which one is Twelfth Night?”

“Twins who pretend to be each other. Cross dressing.”

“Oh, I do know that one.” Petra starts to say something else, but is hit by another wave of contractions. “I HATE THESE BABIES,” she screams. “I WANT THEM OUT NOW.”

“Petra, they can hear you,” Jane chides.

“GET OUT OF ME RIGHT NOW OR YOU’LL BE BORN GROUNDED,” Petra screams at her stomach.

“I’ll go see if the doctor’s ready to check on you again,” Jane backs out of the room. “Maybe check on how Rafael’s coming along.”

“BORN. GROUNDED,” Petra yells again.

…

…

“Alright, looks like we are ready to go!” the doctor is _far_ too cheerful.

Rafael still hasn’t arrived. Jane is standing beside Petra, rubbing her shoulder and cheering her on. Petra _hates_ labor. There are way too many body fluids, not enough drugs, and too many cheerful assholes trying to make her smile through incredible pain. She hated being pregnant, and she hates the end of being pregnant. Jane keeps going on and on about platitudes and woo-hooing, and the nurses are all giving her encouraging smiles that she wants to reach up and smack off of their faces.

“Come on Petra,” Jane rubs the underside of her knee. “You can do this.”

She _can’t_ is the thing. She’s not as strong as Jane. She wants to just lay down and let whatever is going to happen to her body happen. Maybe she’ll die, at this point, she no longer cares at _all._

“Come on Mrs. Villanueva, your wife is right. Just give me one big push now and we’ll have baby number one.”

“I can’t.”

“There’s something that my grandmother said to my mom when she was giving birth to me, and my mom said it to me when I had Mateo,” Jane presses her face right up beside Petra’s and smiles. So brightly, so full of love that Petra almost listens to her. “Five minutes of pain, for a lifetime of happiness,” Jane says, as if she is passing on one of the most sacred secrets of life.

“Máte mozek psa a ústí krávy!” Petra screams at her. She doesn’t give a shit about a lifetime of happiness. Platitudes make her want to kick something. She wants these five minutes to _end_. Now.

The doctor and all the nurses frown, and Jane just shrugs at them with a little laugh.

“Jděte do lesa a půdy sami!” Petra’s head rolls to the other side of the pillow and she moans. “I can’t. I can’t do it anymore.”

Jane tuts. “Are you serious right now? After all that talk in the bookstore about being tough?” she asks. Petra groans again. She’s never been tough. Not really. It’s all an act. When it comes down to it, Petra is a goddamn coward with no strength at all. Certainly not enough for this. Jane presses her face extremely close to Petra’s and drops her voice down an octave. Never losing eye contact with Petra she says, “Suck it up. And push. Those babies. Out,” she holds Petra’s gaze for a beat, raising her eyebrows as if it’s a dare, then she grips Petra’s leg and back again, waiting.

Petra is a coward, but she’s terrible at backing down from any dare. Especially if she wants to prove something. And, she’s always been right about that voice thing, it’s very effective. She hauls herself upwards and screams, gripping Jane’s hand tightly, and pushing as hard as she can. She can’t feel anything but pain, and then—

A baby starts to cry. Jane and Petra both gasp at the same time, relief flooding Petra’s body as the pain dulls somewhat.

“And we have our first little girl!” the doctor announces. “Mom, would you like to cut the cord?” he asks Jane.

“Oh, I’m not—sure,” Jane mumbles. “Ohhh my God _Petra,_ ” she looks between the baby and Petra. “She’s _beautiful._ ”

“Is she okay?” Petra asks, trying to find the energy to sit up and see her. The doctor holds her up and Petra gasps. It’s a tiny, wriggling, red-faced, gunk covered thing. “Do prdele,” Petra whispers in awe.

She’s handed over to a nurse to be cleaned off, and then suddenly the doctor is telling Petra to push again. She moans, unable to imagine actually doing that _again._ But then Jane is there, holding her fiercely, their foreheads pressed against one another’s. And it’s so… comforting. Petra sinks into it and feels Jane scratching the back of her head a little, whispering, _you can do this. One more time. I’m so proud of you._

According to her therapist, basically every relationship that Petra has ever been in has been abusive, and then, there’s Jane. This woman who comes out of nowhere. A waitress at her hotel. And Petra has done many awful things to Jane; in her therapist’s words, she has mirrored her abusers’ behavior towards most of the people in her life, Jane included. But, despite all of that, somewhere along the way, Jane makes the decision to be there for Petra. To be her shoulder to cry on, when she _really_ didn’t have to, that night in the stairwell. To worry about her even if it was only 2%. To try and help her get away from an abusive marriage. To _marry her_ in an act of friendship. To constantly invite her to the kitchen table, or into conversations when she's lonely, and on the periphery. To dole out affection like it’s a piece of gum.

Jane, this woman who she originally tried so hard to despise, who she had once blamed for her failed marriage, has somehow become the one person that Petra loves and trusts more than anyone else in her life. Somehow, it’s she, not Rafael, as the one by her side while she cries out in pain and delivers her children. Petra feels Jane’s forehead pressed against her own while she grits her teeth and screams and screams and pushes as hard as she can.

A baby cries for the second time this afternoon, and Petra _sags._ “Is it over?” she asks Jane.

“Yes,” Jane is crying. Scratching at the back of Petra’s neck and pressing their foreheads together again and whispering, “You did it. It’s over. You did it.” And then, then before Petra can register anything, Jane’s lips ghost over her own. A flutter of a kiss before Jane is just hugging her again. Hugging her, and crying, and looking over at the babies. Whispering, “I’m so proud of you. You did it,” over and over again. Seemingly unaware of the fact that she just kissed Petra at all.

Petra doesn’t know how to comprehend that someone like her, someone who has done horrible things over and over, gets to have someone who is so willing to be there for her now. Someone willing to grab her hand, and confront a man who once threw acid at Petra’s mother in a fit of jealousy. Someone willing to barge straight down to a court of law and marry someone in a single afternoon, just to save them one year of blackmail. Someone who is willing to open up their home, share her family, her bed, and her daily life just to make a woman she doesn’t even particularly like all that much feel more secure. Just a little less lonely.

They’ve gone from blatant antagonism, to something like a truce, to something like a friendship, to genuine friendship, to… something just a little bit more.

Jane holds Petra’s hand, still crying happy tears and pressing their temples together. The matching mood rings on their fingers clack against each other, both shining bright, radiant pink. Petra looks at their fingers. She searched all of the possible mood ring meanings months and months ago. Pink means love, almost across the board. Petra looks into Jane’s eyes, beaming back at her, full of tears and warmth, and for one tiny second Petra thinks, _maybe Jane does all of this because I'm worth it. Maybe she wants to. Maybe I really am worthy of this love_.

“Do you want to hold them?” the doctor asks, pulling Petra’s attention as he brings both girls over.

The first baby (four minutes and twenty seconds older than her sister) is gently placed into Petra’s arms. Her sister is given to Jane after a nod from Petra. Jane stays right beside Petra, practically mushed onto the bed with her at this point, and they both just _stare_ down at the twins.

They’re both just tiny little wisps of things, wrinkly and red-faced and a little funny looking.

They’re ugly.

Petra’s never seen a baby this new before. They don’t look like humans. She’s got two wriggly little alien things.

They’re the most beautiful little alien things that Petra has ever seen. She was worried, so much, that she was going to look at them and feel… indifferent. Two more people in the world, cute at times, annoying at others, not much more. But, it’s nothing like that at all. Not even close. Petra is breathless with how beautiful they are to her, almost afraid to touch them. Jane is lightly bouncing her arms and humming to the baby she’s holding, her nose brushing against the tiny little cheek.

“Petra,” she whispers in awe. “They’re amazing.”

Petra looks down at the one in her arms, she’s frowning, refusing to open her eyes, scrunched up into an angry little ball, the smallest bit of bright blonde hair on the top of her head. The one in Jane’s arms is completely bald, bright blue eyes wide open, staring up at Jane with her mouth opening and closing like a fish, kicking her legs out. Petra watches them both and something about beauty on a scale this large drives her further within her own skin. Not necessarily in a bad way, just making her more aware of where she ends. Only a few minutes ago, they had sort of all been one person, now, they’re three.

Petra can’t wrap her head around it.

“I’m sorry I called you all those horrible names,” she says.

Jane looks baffled. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did. Trust me. It was just in Czech.”

“Oh, well… you’re forgiven. I cursed while in labor too,” she frowns. “Not that much though.”

“Do you want to know their names?” Petra asks. Her lips are still humming from the ghost of Jane’s own pressed against them. She’s too overwhelmed. Unable to stop looking back and forth between both babies and Jane.

“Yes,” Jane says eagerly. She’s moved off of the bed and into a chair beside it, giving Petra some more room.

“That’s Elsa,” she nods to the younger baby in Jane’s arms. “And this,” she glances down at the one in hers, still refusing to open her eyes. “Is Anna.”

Jane snorts. “Wait—Elsa and Anna? Like in Frozen?”

“What do you mean?” Petra asks, baffled as to what being cold has to do with anything. It is still hot in here.

“That’s the names of the sisters. In Frozen. The movie,” Jane explains, looking surprised that Petra has no idea what the hell she is talking about.

“Well, no one except for you would think of that,” Petra turns back down to Anna, smiling. When she looks back up, Jane’s eyes are wide, and she looks like she’s trying not to laugh, Petra frowns at her. “Don’t make fun of their names,” she snaps.

“I’m—no, I’m not,” Jane says quickly. “I think Elsa and Anna are beautiful,” she can’t seem to say this with a straight face.

The frown on Petra’s own deepens. But then, Jane beams up at her, and Petra remembers Jane bending down to kiss her, and she sucks in a breath. That has never happened before, not unless it was for show to prove their marriage to someone. Jane has never just… impulsively kissed Petra before. And Petra is so full of hormones and all of these new emotions, and she’s so _exhausted_ , exhausted enough to feel brave, that she looks up and watches Jane, holding her daughter and looking so beautiful that she blurts out, “You kissed me.”

Jane whips her head up. “What?”

“After Elsa, you kissed me.”

Jane blanches, working at her bottom lip and trying to remember the whirlwind of the last half hour. Petra sees the exact moment that Jane remembers; her eyes go wide and panicky, and she gulps, shakily trying to force herself to hold Petra’s gaze. “I did,” she whispers. “I’m sorry,” she glances down at Elsa. “I—”

“I’m not,” Petra says. She’s never felt a mixture of this amount of bravery and fear in her life. “Jane, I—” The words, _I’m not sorry at all, I love you,_ are on the tip of her tongue, and Jane… Jane looks like all of the sudden, she knows exactly what Petra is about to say.

Rafael chooses this very moment to finally come bursting into the room. “Did I miss it?”

Jane and Petra both audibly inhale, not taking their eyes off each other. Rafael is beaming, tears forming in his eyes as he glances back and forth between both babies. Jane rises from her seat and quickly passes Elsa to him. Petra watches as her hands shake.

“Hi Elsa,” Rafael whispers before bending down to press a kiss to Anna’s cheeks. “Hi Anna.” He directs his attention to Petra, kissing her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” her voice cracks and Jane seems to visibly flinch from it.

“You look fantastic,” Rafael says, bouncing Elsa lightly, completely unaware of the tension filling up the space between Petra and Jane. “Michael’s waiting in the lobby to give you a ride home,” he tells Jane. “The traffic looks like it’s finally cleared up. It was an eight car pileup.”

“Wow,” Jane croaks. “That’s horrible.” Her eyes never leave Petra’s face.

“God,” Rafael sits down on the edge of the bed, holding Elsa so that the twins are next to each other. “They’re so beautiful.”

“I should go,” Jane mumbles. “Give you guys some family time.”

“Jane—” Petra starts.

“No, it’s good. You need your rest,” she swallows hard. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Petra watches her almost trip on the chair as she dashes out of the room. She closes her eyes, breathing in and out and trying to calm herself the way Dr. Villafañe has been teaching her. When she opens her eyes, the first thing she sees is her daughters.

Anna finally cracks open her eyes, bright blue, just like her sister’s. She blinks a few times before settling on Petra’s face. “Hello little girl,” Petra whispers. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”


	13. could i leave you?

“Hey,” Luisa gives a small wave as she walks into the hospital room. “How are you feeling?” she bends over and hugs Petra lightly, brushing some hair out of her eyes with a smile.

“Like I just pushed two human beings out of a very small part of my body.”

Luisa grins and passes Petra a small iced coffee. “You can have this, you nursed them this morning right?”

Petra takes the coffee happily, grimacing at the reminder of this morning’s disaster. “Yes. They’re going to be switched to formula. It’s what I wanted anyway, and apparently I don’t have to feel guilty about it, because I can’t produce enough milk for the both of them.”

“You can switch off a bit,” Luisa shrugs. “I know lots of patients with twins who did. It’s pretty common.”

Petra’s grimace increases. “Yes, the doctor mentioned that.” She’s not sure that she wants to try, but the guilt from one small google search makes her worry that she’ll be depriving her daughters of some essential thing to help them grow. For now, she sucks down the coffee and doesn’t talk about it.

“Is Jane here?” Luisa asks, innocently. Petra stiffens all the same, remembering the panicked wide eye look that Jane had on her face as she ran out of the hospital room last night.

“No,” Petra answers, aware of exactly how strained her voice sounds. She hasn’t heard a single word from Jane since she left. Not even a text message.

Luisa frowns, noting how odd that is coming from Jane, and Petra’s demeanor. “What’s up?” she asks softly.

Petra considers for about ten seconds keeping her mouth shut and dealing with her emotions herself, but she trusts Luisa, and bottling up her emotions has never worked out for her well in the past. Plus, her therapist has been urging her to fight that instinct whenever it comes up.

“Jane kissed me last night without thinking about it,” Petra says quickly. “When I brought it up she panicked, and basically ran from the room, and I haven’t heard from her since.”  

Luisa blows some hair out of her face very slowly. “Wow,” she breathes.

“Yes,” Petra rearranges herself in the bed, sitting up more.

“ _Wow,_ ” Luisa repeats.

“That is not helpful,” Petra snaps at her.

“Sorry, I just… huh.”

Petra rolls her eyes. Maybe her therapist was wrong about confiding in people.

“No, I’m… look the panicking thing sucks but it’s not all that surprising. Jane is a high strung person who analyzes everything like nobody’s business,” she scoots Petra over in the bed, despite her small yelp of protest and sprawls out beside her. “A couple of days ago she spent half an hour trying to decide whether or not she should leave Mateo with his bathing suit when she dropped him off. I told her that I had no desire to take him to the pool—I’d _just_ gotten out of the shower—and I was pretty sure that Rafael was too busy, but she wasn’t sure that someone wouldn’t spontaneously change their minds, and then we might be without the option. Finally, she relented and just left the damn thing with me, _just in case._ Once she’d actually _made_ the decision, she was fine with it, but it took her forever to get there.”

Luisa reaches up and tugs on the end of Petra’s pathetic braid. (A nurse had hastily done it for her at one a.m. after she’d screamed in frustration with the bun making it difficult to get comfortable, and the heat of it being down on her neck making it even worse.)

“That was just a swimsuit, this is _you._ ”

“But I’m—”

“Someone she cares very much about, if you don’t know that then you’re a fucking idiot.”

Petra pinches Luisa’s thigh. “I _know_ that she cares about me,” she snaps. “I just don’t know if it’s in the way I care about her. I think it _might_ be. Or something close to it, but I don’t _know._ ”

“Do you get why she might need some time to think about it?”

“Yes! I never said she shouldn’t. I just… the cold shoulder doesn’t exactly make me feel great about it. I _live_ with her Luisa! I don’t want things to be awkward. I just—”

“Okay,” Luisa sits up and faces Petra, still on the bed. “Let’s say, Jane thinks about it, and turns out we’re both wrong—which, I got to be honest, I _really_ don’t see happening. But, worst case scenario, she doesn’t have romantic feelings for you, she has platonic. What do you do?”

“I—move out. I don’t think I could keep living with her, and sharing a bed, and being fake married knowing that I’m in love with her and she’s not in love with me.”

“Fair, probably a very healthy decision. Would you still want to be her friend? Because let’s face it, no matter what happens—Jane cares about you—she’s not going to write you off or anything. Plus, your kids are siblings,” Luisa turns around and peers down the hall. “Speaking of which, when am I going to get to meet my nieces?”

“The nurse should be bringing them in less than five minutes. We’re supposed to try nursing again. They’re bringing formula too. Either way, I’m supposed to feed them. Bond or whatever.”

“Awesome!” Luisa claps. “Anyway, so, do you think that you could still be, or would _want_ to still be friends?”

Petra’s immediate response is _yes_ , but she forces herself to really think about it. It would hurt. And she knows that she wouldn’t be able to continue living with Jane and her family, it would hurt more. But—Jane’s presence in her life is important, beyond her romantic feelings. She doesn’t know how long it would take to get over them, but she knows she would want to try. No matter what, she wants Jane’s friendship. She needs it.

“Yes,” Petra whispers. “I’d want to still be friends.”

Luisa hums, moving her straw around idly in her coffee. “That’s good to know. It’s hard though. I’ve tried to be friends with my exes before. It’s not easy, but it can totally be done.”

“She’s not my ex,” Petra says.

“Well… I mean yes _technically_ you’ve never dated, but you are married. So, legally you _would_ be exes. God,” she murmurs to herself, “this whole situation is so damn weird.”

“I’m aware,” Petra snaps. “The nurse asked me what to put on the girls’ birth certificates and I blanched. Rafael assumes their last name will be Solano, especially because Mateo’s isn’t, but—that’s not my name anymore, and Andel was a fake that my mother used to get us out of Ukraine. I haven’t been Natalia Kovář since I was fifteen years old. It doesn’t even feel like me anymore. I told her to wait and fill them out later, I don’t know what to put down. Everyone is confused,” she laughs bitterly. “Another nurse asked if I needed adoption papers drawn up for Jane and I choked on nothing but air for three minutes.”

“I didn’t know your name was Natalia Kovář,” she tilts her head and stares at Petra. “I can’t picture you as anything but Petra.”

“Like I said, it doesn’t fit me anymore,” she fidgets under Luisa’s gaze. “Going back to Natalia would just feel… weird. I’ve spent more than half my life as Petra, I hated it at first. I could never remember to answer to it, but now… I don’t think I could answer to anything else. Kovář though…” Petra shrugs. “It was my mother’s maiden name. I never knew my father’s surname. I never knew _him._ He died back in Germany. I wouldn’t even know where to start to find out his name. I don’t think I would want it anyway. It doesn’t mean anything to me.”

Luisa hums and pulls Petra’s braid apart, combing her fingers gently through the tangles in her unwashed hair. Petra closes her eyes, relishing in the feeling. Luisa plays with her hair more than anyone ever has, it had been annoying at first, but it’s not anymore. It hasn’t been for a long time.

“We’ll figure it out,” she says, sure of it. Petra relaxes, just a little.

The nurse comes in with the twins as Luisa finishes redoing Petra’s braid. She squeals quietly and jumps up to see them.

“Oh my goooooood,” she groans, picking up one of them. Wisps of blonde hair, and deep brown eyes: Anna. “Hello,” she hums right into her cheek. “I’m your aunt Luisa.”

Elsa is passed over to Petra and she kicks excitedly. Of the two, Anna is the calm one thus far.

“This is Elsa, and that’s Anna,” Petra tells Luisa.

She snorts, then catches sight of Petra’s face. “Oh, for real? Okay, brilliant.”

Petra huffs, perhaps she’s going to have to find out whatever this stupid _Frozen_ movie is after all. Rafael hadn’t had a clue what Jane was going on about either. They hadn’t even picked the names together. Petra had pulled the name Anna out of the bowl, and Rafael had chosen Elsa. They hadn’t shown each other until a few days before Petra went into labor. Petra figures that it can’t really be as big as Jane, Luisa, and a few of the nurses are making it out to be.

They try breast feeding again. It’s less of a disaster than the morning, if only because Luisa is far more patient and used to Petra’s barbs than the nurses. She manages to actually feed both girls a little bit before they top them off with formula, and Luisa doesn’t make her feel like a failure because of it.

By the time Petra that and the twins are exhausted enough for a nap, there’s still no word from Jane, but Petra falls asleep, half in Luisa’s arms, determined not to take it as immediate rejection to a question that technically, hasn’t even been asked yet.

…

…

The Villanueva house floods.

Alba mutters something about a curse, and rejects the first man that she ever fell in love with once she realizes that she can do _much_ better than an old womanizer who leaves destruction in his wake.

The point is, _no one_ is living in the Villanueva household right now. Everyone is set up at The Marbella for the foreseeable future. Petra, recently released from the hospital, included.

Rafael starts to move Petra into her own room, separate from the Villanueva women, and all four women frown in confusion.

“¿Qué?” Alba looks between Rafael and Petra, Elsa nestled in her arms. “No vas a quedar con nosotros?”

Rafael laughs, then sees the uncomfortable look on Jane’s face. Petra’s eyes haven’t left her since the moment Rafael clapped his hands and announced that Petra’s room was down the hall. Jane hasn’t spoken to her once in the last three days, she’s been avoiding all eye contact with Petra since they walked into the room, but this is the first time that she’s actually looked upset.

“Well… yeah. I figured you ladies wouldn’t want to all cram into one room if you didn’t have to.” He looks nervously between Jane and Petra, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. “Right?”

Jane shrugs. “I mean, we’re used to it,” she says, not looking anyone in the eye, fixing Mateo’s hair. “But, if Petra wants her own space… that’s, I mean that’s fine.”

Petra catches Alba and Xiomara share a pointed look over Elsa’s head. She swallows. “I don’t need my own space,” her voice does not come across as bold as she hoped, but Jane’s eyes _finally_ snap up to hers. A silence falls between them and solidifies somewhere around Petra’s diaphragm, and then—

“Well… I’ve already got the twins cribs set up in the room down the hall,” Rafael says. He turns to Petra with a huff. He’s annoyed with her, has been since they left the hospital without giving the girls a last name. Too confused as to why she just wouldn’t write Solano and be done with it. Why it needed to be this big dragged out thing. Petra has no answer to give him.

Petra looks to Jane once more, but she’s already turning back to Mateo. “Fine,” she acquiesces. Rafael grabs hold of Anna’s carrier and heads out the door.

“Ven por nosotros si necesita cualquier cosa,” Alba says as she passes Elsa over to Petra, cupping her chin and making sure Petra looks her in the eyes.

“Bueno,” she agrees.

Alba smiles and presses a soft kiss to her cheek. “Son hermosos,” she whispers.

“I’m sorry things with Pablo didn’t work out,” she says. “But I am glad you kicked him to the curb. Wish I could have been there to see it.”

Alba smiles and Petra hears Jane snort from behind her. On instinct, she turns around and shares a smile with her before both of their faces twist into awkwardness and look away.

…

…

Petra hates being alone with the twins. Hates being _alone_ period.

Her suite feels ginormous. The kitchen too large for just one person. Too many chairs and couches that no one but her is sitting on. The bed makes her feel like she’s a child, swimming in something that’s far too large for just her.

Even with two nannies on call nearly twenty-four-seven (heavily vetted for the last month) Petra feels utterly alone. Rafael stops by three or four times a day, cooing at both girls during his breaks, and effectively ignoring Petra or giving her passive aggressive looks for not cooing along with him.

So _what_ if she isn’t jumping at the chance to change diapers. She’s _done it_ before. It’s not as if she refuses to do it, but that’s what she hired the nannies for. Diapers are disgusting, not wanting to deal with them is a perfectly natural response. If anything, Rafael’s glee at the prospect is the odd thing happening here.

But, Petra watches him with the twins and… she _knows_ there is something lacking in her response to them. Everyone looks at her as if she should be a changed person now. As if for the fact that the twins are _here_ now _,_ physically outside of her body, able to touch, and smell, and hear them, it _should_ be different.

But it’s not.

Petra has watched Jane interact with Mateo for nearly a year now, and Jane… Jane _lights up_ around him. Mateo’s very existence makes her happy. She sees the same thing on Xiomara’s face regarding Jane, and Alba’s regarding the both of them. Petra watches everyone she knows interact with her daughters and thinks _why don’t I feel that?_

She stares at them in their cribs, sound asleep after the nannies have left for the evening. Petra has been working out like a maniac, the only thing that seems to calm her mind from wondering about her relationship with Jane, and being overwhelmed by the twins. She’s sweaty, about to jump into the shower with the baby monitor, but she just stares down at them, knowing that she should feel… something.

They’re cute. They started out wrinkly and odd looking, scrunched up and alien, but, with each day that passes, their skin loses some of the redness, they stretch their legs out a little longer, they look more human and less alien.

Cuter.

But… they’re annoying. And needy. And people seem confused when Petra doesn’t want to be holding one of them twenty-four-seven.

Petra doesn’t light up around them. And she knows that she’s supposed to.

…

…

She lies to her therapist.

She’s never done that before. Withheld some information while she was still deciding whether or not to trust her, sure, but she hasn’t actively lied before.

She gushes about how much she loves the girls. About how _beautiful_ and _life changing_ being a mother is, diapers and all. How _nice_ it is to have space of her own again, the pipes bursting almost a miracle in of itself.

She feels so guilty about that one, knowing how much the reparations are going to cost, and how prideful all three Villanueva women are, that she secretly adds money into Jane’s account. Increasing it bit by bit so Jane won’t take notice of a sudden influx of thousands of dollars.

(Jane notices anyway, Petra always knew that she would. A series of half caps lock text messages tell Petra that she doesn’t have to do that, it’s very kind and sweet but please stop, Jane has already transferred the exact amount _back_ into her own account.) It’s the first time that Jane has initiated contact with Petra in almost a week and a half; the longest they’ve gone without talking regularly since Jane proposed almost eight months ago. It feels monumental in a way that makes Petra revert to her old patterns.

As her therapist would say, were Petra telling her the truth.

…

…

Rafael asks Jane to talk to Petra.

She _knows_ from Jane’s body language as she steps into Petra’s office. Knows from the that way she unconsciously plays with the Supergirl figurine on Petra’s desk, not looking her in the eye and parroting words that Rafael has already said to Petra more than once.

She knows because Rafael has already tried the same thing with Luisa, and Petra effectively shut her out.

(She _knows_ that none of this is healthy. She hears her therapist’s voice ringing out in her head about connections, and bottling up emotions, and trust, and she just _doesn’t care._ )

She lies to Jane too.

But, it’s still _Jane_ so Petra’s defenses aren’t… great.

“Petra,” Jane is smiling at her for the first time since the twins were born. She waits, arms crossed, smirking after she’s mentioned the Mommy and Me class she liked attending with Mateo.

“Fine, will you take me?” Petra snaps, keeping her eyes trained on her desk.

“Yes,” Jane’s grin widens.

…

…

“Any silly games?” Petra asks as they walk down the street, Jane pushing the twins’ stroller.

“Nope, no games,” Jane says.

“Any cheesy songs?”

“Maybe one cheesy song.”

Petra stops walking.

Jane backs right up beside her. “But it’s not about rainbows and friendship and gross stuff.”

Petra turns and glares at Jane warily.

“And you do not have to sing,” Jane adds, pushing the stroller along and expecting Petra to follow. She does. But she’s not entirely happy about it.  

…

…

“My name is Petra,” she claps dully.

“Hi Petra, Hi Petra,” the women sing back at her.

She cannot believe that Jane talked her into this. That she is sitting here _singing._ They’re in a circle, babies laid out in front of each mother. Petra has Elsa in front of her, and Jane has Anna. Jane’s clapping along like she’s actually having _fun_ and Petra wants to throttle her for lying about how stupid this all is. “I’m Mommy to Elsa and Anna,” Petra drones, imitating the lines each mother has to add.

“Oh!” a woman interrupts, “like in Frozen!?”

Petra stops clapping and _glares_ at her in shock.

“No, not like that at all,” Jane adds hurriedly, motioning for the next woman to go on. Petra turns to her, clapping along to the beat and ignoring everyone else. She doesn’t understand everyone’s fucking obsession with her children’s names and that stupid movie. _It’s fine,_ Jane mouths.

“Hi Elsa, Hi Anna,” the women sing.

Petra rolls her eyes. Even though they all just introduced themselves in goddamn sing-song, they go around introducing themselves and talking _again._ Jane pipes up this time.

“My name’s Jane and this Petra, my…” she glances over at Petra in a small panic, almost choking on the word, “friend,” once she settles on it. “I came to this class with my son Mateo, and it really helped me to talk to other mothers who were going through some of the same things. I can tell that something’s been bothering you,” Jane admits to Petra. “I thought it might help to talk to someone else who’s going through the same thing as you are,” she nods towards the circle of women, all looking at Petra kindly.

The other mothers are all clearly encouraging, Jane even more so. Despite Petra’s instincts telling her to lie, to be quiet, to shut herself off… that’s not really her anymore. Whatever is going on with her is bigger than just what’s between herself and Jane, and she’s _exhausted_ with trying to hide it from everyone.

“I…” she looks down at Elsa and feels her throat tighten. “I just feel like they’d be better off with someone else taking care of them,” she admits.

Jane’s head whips towards her in shock. “You know that’s not true, right? You’re their mom.”

Petra can’t hold back the tears anymore, especially as she looks down at how tenderly and naturally Jane holds Anna.

“Petra,” Jane says softly, looking so pained at the prospect that Petra sucks back her tears.

“I’m fine,” she insists. “I’m just overwhelmed, like everybody else here is.” Except she knows that that is a lie. She can see it on all the other women’s faces. On Jane’s face. Before Jane can say anything else, Petra pushes Elsa into her arms, and runs from the room.

She doesn’t get very far.

By the time Jane comes out, a baby bag slung over each shoulder, huffing as she pushes the stroller, Petra is pacing the sidewalk.

“You never came back,” she accuses, one hand on her hip, shoulder bag nearly slipping down.

Petra paces and doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t know what to say. There are too many things inside of her throat, screaming to come out.

Jane sets both bags down and pulls a card out of her pocket. “Look, I talked to one of the mothers who said that she went through postpartum depression,” she begins.

Petra stops pacing.

“Pretty much everything I’ve seen, and heard from Rafael and Luisa seems like… maybe that might be something close to what you’re going through,” Jane says gently. Petra’s heard of this before, but she doesn’t really know exactly what Jane is talking about. “She went to a doctor and it really helped her. Have you talked to your therapist about any of this?”

“No,” Petra says, clipped.

“You can,” Jane holds her gaze steady. It’s the most they’ve talked and looked at each other in nearly two weeks. There’s none of the hesitancy and awkwardness that’s been surrounding them, just concern coming from Jane. “I think… I think maybe you should. And here’s the number to the doctor that she saw,” Jane holds out the card to her, and Petra sucks in a breath. Her hands remaining in her pockets. “And FYI, I hear that the doctor’s very exclusive and very expensive,” Jane adds. Petra raises her eyebrows and tries to pull back a smirk, but from the wry grin etching out onto Jane’s face, she’s failing. “Yeah, I don’t even think they take insurance.”

Petra does smirk now and Jane lets out a breath, like she’s trying to be impressed by this exclusive and expensive doctor. She wouldn’t be, not in a million years. And the transparency of it all is almost delightful. Jane is trying to say something, anything, that might peak Petra’s interest, even if it’s nothing that she would ever care about herself. It’s not subtle at all, Jane isn’t capable of subtleties. But, she cares enough to try. Petra smiles.

“Just, tell me that you’ll think about it,” Jane asks softly.

Petra takes the card, their fingers brushing against each other’s. Jane blushes and pulls back her hand and Petra’s smirk grows. “I’ll think about it,” she promises.

Jane quickly steps back and hauls one of the bags over her shoulder, holding the other out to Petra with a raised eyebrow. She will _not_ be carrying both of them again. Petra takes the bag and the card, walking with Jane as she pushes the stroller back towards Petra’s car.

They don’t speak again. They walk side by side in silence, then put the girls into their car seats together. Jane keeps glancing at Petra, and quickly looking away once Petra’s eyes lock onto hers. It’s as unsubtle as she was with the doctor’s card. Petra wants to just snap at her to talk. Wants to bring up the kiss, and Jane’s complete and utter dismissal of it and shove it in her face, where she can’t just blush and run away. Petra drives them back to The Marbella, her knuckles tight against the wheel. Jane silent and gaze unwavering, working at her jaw, clearly trying to work through something on her own rather than blurt out whatever is going on in her head.

Petra grips at the wheel tighter, then watches Jane open and close her mouth three times as they walk down the hall with the twins. Stopping before Petra’s door, Jane’s own further down the hall. Jane hesitates, helping Petra get both girls inside before hovering in the doorway. Petra looks up at her, refusing to drop her eyes and Jane swallows audibly. Something is happening in this space between them; the air feels too thick and charged, full of a million and one things that neither of them are saying to each other.

“Okay,” Jane finally croaks. “I’ll see you later?”

Petra sighs. “Sure Jane.”

When she walks out of the door, Jane looks nearly as miserable as Petra feels.

…

…

Magda’s voice is gruff when it finally crackles through the connection. “Mother?” Petra asks, her voice rawer than she’d hoped it would be.

Magda tuts. “Finally called to gloat?”

“No. I—I had the twins. They’re healthy,” she pauses. “So am I.”

“Wonderful,” Magda says, full of sarcasm. Petra can’t believe that after everything, she still hopes that part of it is sincere.

“I was just wondering… I’m not, really connecting with them, and I spoke to a doctor, about postpartum depression. And he—he asked about my family history, and I wasn’t sure. I told him I would check.”

Magda snorts. Petra can imagine her rubbing at her nose, the exact way that her mouth falls into a grimace. Every part of this woman is so utterly familiar. She swallows thickly and waits. “Depression is not real Petra,” she says snidely. “It’s rich people wanting someone to listen to their problems.”

Petra sighs. “Mother, that’s not what—”

“Listen, you feel like you aren’t good mother—you’re right. I wish I’d listened when my gut told me. I didn’t listen enough. The best thing you can do for those girls, is get out of their lives,” her voice changes, not soft, just… not cruel. Indifferent, yet sincere at the same time. “We’re not made to be mothers. We just ruin people. Look what I did to you. Do you want that for them?”

_No, never._

Petra hangs up the phone.


	14. i love you, et cetera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the bit about letting the rain wash over you mixed with the kissing part is inspired by/slightly borrowed and tweaked from the raven king. i was deeply disappointed with the final book, and i'm not really all that into ronan/adam as far as these things go, but i did love that image a lot, and it fit really well with what i had for petra in my head. so, thanks for that, stiefvater.
> 
> i'm, honestly not sure how i feel about this chapter, but... i can't keep futzing with it anymore so, her ya go.

The bed is too big for just one person.

The hospital bed was too small. The sheets starchy, the blankets too thin, and Petra could never seem to fall asleep.

Now, she’s in a luxurious king sized bed. Silk sheets, expensive duvets, as many pillows as she wants, and she still can’t sleep. She’s too hot and kicks all of the blankets off, only to be freezing and digging around for them half asleep only a few moments later. The bed is too big, and she’s swimming in it.

She’s alone in it.

Petra is furious. She _hated_ sharing a bed before. She and Rafael often clung to their own side of the bed and slept in differing shifts while they were married. Both of them liked their own space. And _now,_ Petra seems incapable of sleeping alone. She’s restless, and angry, and it is entirely Jane’s fault.

She gives up often, wandering the halls, sometimes with a baby who’s woken up, sometimes to escape a baby who’s awake, letting the night nannies deal with them. She walks up and down each hall, either alone or softly bouncing one of the twins until they’re both too exhausted to remain standing any longer. Then she falls asleep the minute that her head hits the pillow.

She still walks around like a zombie during the day. Every time that she sees Jane give her a worried look, Petra wants to scream at her, _this is all your fault._ Instead, she clamps her mouth shut and forces a smile, trying not to look as exhausted as she feels.

Jane doesn’t actually look like she is fairing much better. Part of Petra feels a little bit vindicated by this, but most of her is just miserable and lonely.

…

…

She is officially diagnosed with postpartum depression. She stops lying to her therapist, starts seeing her twice a week instead of once a week, and is prescribed some medication to take daily. The nannies are both given twenty pages worth of information (courtesy of Jane, Petra finds out later) and Rafael stops pointedly asking Petra if she’d like to hold a baby or change its diaper multiple times throughout the day.

Nothing is magically fixed, she still looks down at the twins and wishes that she felt the same way Jane so clearly feels when she looks at Mateo—and sometimes the twins. But, being able to put a name to the feeling, to see how many other women it affects, helps more than she thought it would. She feels like less of a failure.  

“I can’t know for sure. Without talking to her… this many years later _,_ we might not even be able to make an accurate diagnosis,” Dr. Villafañe says. “But from everything that you’ve told me, there is a good chance that your mother suffered from undiagnosed postpartum depression.”

Petra doesn’t look up at her. There is an ache so acute, so sharp beneath her breastbone that she doesn’t think she can manage to keep breathing.

“Petra,” Dr. Villafañe says gently, “nothing that your mother ever said or did to you was your fault. And the fact that you have postpartum doesn’t mean that you are going to end up like her. She was alone, with limited options, dealing with a mental illness that she didn’t understand or have the support to get through. That’s not you.”

Petra breathes the way Dr. Villafañe taught her: in through the nose for four seconds, hold it for seven, out through the mouth for eight.

Again, and again.

“You aren’t closing yourself off. You’re seeking help. You’re talking to me and taking your medication. You have a support system. Nannies to help who understand your condition. Luisa, Rafael, Jane, Alba. Even Xiomara and Rogelio.”

Petra looks up and meets Dr. Villafañe’s eyes.

“You aren’t your mother Petra,” she says firmly. “The very fact that you’re here, working so hard day in and day out, means that you won’t be.”

“But—what if I,” Petra pauses, and Dr. Villafañe motions for her to go on. “What if I am anyway? What if I do this, and it’s all for nothing? What if I am just not capable of love the right way?” her voice is small and shaky, she’s never uttered these fears aloud before. Not really. “Not the way that the twins deserve. I mean maybe—maybe they _would_ be better off with someone else.”

Unbelievably, Dr. Villafañe smiles at her. “Can I tell you something that’s going to make you incredibly annoyed and angry with me?”

Petra snorts. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Sure, I doubt that I can feel any shittier than I do right now. I might as well hate you on top of it.”

Dr. Villafañe leans forward, making sure that Petra is listening to her. “You are probably the hundredth patient to ask me some variation of that question. It’s one of the most common things that people think about themselves. What if I’m somehow wrong in the way everybody else doesn’t seem to be? What if I’m lacking something essential?” she sighs. “I think the very fact that so many people think this, so many mothers, even ones without postpartum, answers that question for you.”

“You’re right,” Petra says. “I definitely hate you right now.” Completely despite herself, Petra feels a smile tug at her mouth.

“Well,” Dr. Villafañe grins. “I did warn you.”

Petra walks out of therapy, believing for maybe the first time that she might _not_ turn out exactly like her mother. It’s alarming how calming it feels, how much straighter she can hold her head up without feeling like she’s drowning.

…

…

Petra is done being afraid.

Done with pining, done with feeling shitty about herself, and done feeling like she’s walking around on eggshells all of the time. She’s had enough of being trapped by her own decisions.

She’s done.

That doesn’t mean that she isn’t nervous as she raises her fist and knocks on the Villanueva women’s suite.

Xiomara answers, her eyes slightly red. “Oh, Petra,” she pushes the door further open, walking back inside and expecting Petra to follow without any other invitation. She does. “Jane’s not here. She should be back soon I think, she texted earlier.”

“I wanted to talk to you actually,” Petra says. Xiomara finally turns and really looks at her, intrigued. She raises an eyebrow and waits. Petra sucks in a breath then steps forward, holding a check out in her hands. “I wanted to repay you for letting me stay in your home. I tried to offer this to Jane, but she wouldn’t take it.”

Xiomara takes the check and glances down at it, her eyes widening. “This is—”

“Significantly less than I originally tried to offer Jane, and a reasonable amount of money considering the fact that you opened your home and kitchen to a woman you didn’t even like for eight months.”

“I…”

“We both know you didn’t like me,” Petra waves her off. “I didn’t like you either. There’s no use in pretending that it’s not true.”

Xiomara laughs, throaty and a little raw. The redness in her eyes still apparent. Still broken up with Rogelio then. It’s stupid, how much they clearly love each other. Why do children have to ruin everything? Petra doesn’t voice this, not to Xiomara now, and not to Rogelio last she spoke with him. It’s their issue, their business. No one else’s. But, it is upsetting to watch.

“Well, for the record or whatever…” Xiomara shrugs. “I like you now.”

Petra doesn’t bother hiding her grin. “The feeling’s mutual.” They hold each other’s gaze for a beat, then Petra straightens her posture. “So, are you going to accept the money to help with repairs on the house or not?”

Xiomara looks back down at the check. Of the three of them, Petra figures that she is the best bet to actually accept it. Alba filled Jane with her own sense of pride, but all three women have it to some degree. They don’t want charity or pity. Petra knows the feeling; she didn’t want their charity or pity when she first moved in, and she is offering them neither now. She just wants to repay them, and this is the only way she knows how. Xiomara seems to understand this as she looks between the check and Petra, nodding to herself.

“Are you moving out?” she asks.

“I…” Petra sucks in a breath, she probably should have expected this question, but she didn’t. The truth settles itself into her chest. “Yes,” she says. “I’m looking into houses now.”

“What?” Jane’s voice slices through the air. Petra and Xiomara both turn in unison, and Jane doesn’t bother trying to hide the shock on her face.

Petra’s newfound bravado falters.

“You’re buying a house?” Jane steps into the room, shock gone, intensity turned up to eleven as she presses herself right into Petra’s personal space. “Where? When? What neighborhood? I mean what about Milos? What does your therapist say? What about m—” Jane clamps her mouth shut. She steps back, as if realizing for the first time how close she is to Petra.

“So…” Xiomara drawls, catching Jane’s attention. She looks pointedly between Jane and Petra, pocketing the check after giving Petra a wink. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got to go meet Rogelio. Rehearse to be on his show.”  

“Have fun Ma,” Jane says sincerely. The minute her mother is out the door, Jane snaps her attention back to Petra. “You’re buying a house?” she asks again, her voice small.

“I’m… looking into it yes. I’ve never had a home,” Petra admits. “I just went from cheap flat to flat, to hotels, to… your house. I want the girls to have a home. Something that feels permanent. Something they can count on. At the very least I’m capable of giving them that.”

Jane swallows audibly, reaching towards Petra and then hesitating at the last moment, her hand hanging awkwardly between them in the air. “That’s… I get that,” she finally says. “Well, I mean I _don’t_ —I’ve always had a home, but I get…” she sighs. “It makes sense.”

“Yes, well,” Petra hugs herself.

“But what about… Milos, and… everything?” Jane presses her palms together, not looking Petra in the eye.

Her discomfort is apparent. She hasn’t looked this nervous around Petra since the day that they met. Back then, Petra had been desperate. Her world had felt like it was closing in on her, Rafael slipping away, taking everything that he represented with him. Security, stability, love. Petra, once again out in the cold with nothing but her mother and the clothes on their backs. Forced to start from scratch all over again. Petra refused to go through it all again, and suddenly, everything that she had hinged on Jane. A girl just out of college whose arms shook as they returned Petra’s hug. A hug that was all strategy; to prove to Rafael that she could be warm, gain Jane’s trust, get her life back. Husband, child, security.

Check, check, check.

If not for Jane.

Rafael didn’t fall back in love with Petra, he fell in love with Jane. The baby didn’t become her second chance at motherhood, he became Mateo; Jane’s son, not hers. Security went right out the window; Roman dying, Lachlan slithering his way back into her bed, Milos showing up, her mother being able to walk. Ivan. Nothing went according to plan. All because of Jane entering her life.

Once, a few days after they’d first met, Petra invited Jane into the nursery that she’d had an assistant put together in another desperate attempt to prove herself somehow. To Jane, to Rafael—to herself. She looked at Jane and saw a threat to be extinguished. Her competition. But then Jane had smiled at her, full watt, eyes a little watery, and Petra had promptly forgotten exactly what she’d been there for in the first place. She started going on and on about bassinets and paint colors until she’d found her bearings again. Forcing herself not to stare at Jane, or to give a second thought at all to the woman she’d desperately wanted gone from her life as soon as possible.

Today though, she has no such misgivings, not when nearly all of her cards are out on the table, and she has never been particularly skilled with subtlety in the first place. It only takes a single step for her to be right back in Jane’s personal space. Her eyes rove Jane’s body unabashedly, landing on her face and holding her gaze, unwavering. Jane inhales sharply but doesn’t back away.

“Well, I haven’t heard from Milos since Ivan died,” Petra says, brushing her crossed arms against Jane’s. “He’s in Russia.”

“Right but…” Jane blushes, scooting backwards ever so slightly. “We should check with Michael. Don’t you think?”

Petra shrugs one shoulder, following Jane until she yelps, surprised to find that she’s backed herself into the wall. She’s flustered and blushing, unable to look Petra in the eyes. Petra smiles, then steps away from Jane and closer towards the door. Her bravado only goes so far. Blushing and being flustered isn’t confirmation that Jane feels the same way that Petra does. She’s done being afraid of everything, but she’s also still petrified of rejection. What is it her therapist says? Baby steps.

“You can if you want,” she opens the door, Jane still pressed flat against the wall. “I told the nannies that I’d be with the girls for an hour. I should go.”

“Petra—”

Whatever it is that Jane is going to say, Petra staunchly ignores, walking down the hall as quickly as she can. Baby steps. Plus, you’re supposed to leave them wanting more, isn’t that what people always say?

…

…

“You’re being a bitch,” Luisa announces as she enters Petra’s suite. Without knocking. One of the nannies gasps, Petra can’t remember what her name is, she’s new.

“Excuse me?” Petra looks up from her laptop, full of realtor listings in Miami.

“You have postpartum, and being a new mother is weird anyway. And you’re in love with Jane, and you don’t know how she feels back. Your mother is a raging bitch, and you’ve probably got more abandonment issues than me and Rafael put together,” Luisa spits out in one breath. The nanny holding Anna looks panicked, ready to run at a moment’s notice. Petra sighs. She’ll probably have to be replaced too.

Petra sets her laptop onto the foot rest and crosses her arms, glaring up at Luisa.

“But guess what!” she continues. “We’ve _all_ got problems! I’m an alcoholic! My license has been revoked and I _still_ don’t have a job. My ex-girlfriends are a criminal mastermind and the detective that arrested her. And, I’ve got abandonment issues too, _so,_ when my best friend starts ignoring all my calls and walking the other way every time she sees me in the hotel that _we both live in,_ I go a little crazy. So pick up your goddamn phone and stop being a bitch!”

“Fine,” Petra hisses, her lips curling into something between smile and grimace.

Luisa huffs out a breath, sagging down onto the couch beside Petra. “Good,” she looks down at the laptop screen. “Glad that’s over. So, what are we doing?”

Petra picks the laptop back up, resting it on both their knees. “Looking for a house.”

Luisa’s eyes widen and she whistles. “So… are we giving up on Jane or… really going for a grand gesture? Because I gotta say, part of me loves it, but also, Raf almost bought her a house once, and she panicked and basically dumped him immediately. Plus, the whole, public marriage proposal in front of her favorite author thing? Not sure Jane’s a grand gesture kind of girl.”

“This isn’t about Jane. This is about the twins.”

Luisa doesn’t say anything.

“It _is,_ ” Petra insists. “It is about the twins.”

“And it’s happening _now_ because if Jane rejects you, you want somewhere to escape to that’s away from her?”

“No,” Petra snaps. “But that’s not a _terrible_ side bonus.”

“Right.”

“Have you talked to Susanna lately?” Petra asks, almost, but not quite cruelly. “Or looked for a new job?” Luisa frowns. “That’s what I thought. You can’t avoid your problems by focusing on mine.”

“But that’s way less stressful,” Luisa whines.

“I don’t care,” Petra is not really the person to come to for sympathy. Tough love is more up her alley. Even with herself.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Luisa says, sitting up and facing Petra. “I’ll go tell Susanna that I’m in love with her, if you go tell Jane,” she holds her hand out, waiting for Petra to shake.

“Are you?”

“What?”

“In love with Susanna? Not Rose?”

Luisa only hesitates a moment before nodding. “I think… I’m always going to have some feelings for Rose,” she admits. “She was the first person who it ever felt _real_ with, you know?” Petra nods. That’s how she feels about Rafael, now. “But,” Luisa continues, “it was messy and really complicated from the beginning. And, just because I loved her, doesn’t mean that loving her was good for me. I wasn’t sure, before, if I had the option, would I pick Rose again over Susanna. But… I think, even if Susanna doesn’t take me back, I’m over Rose. There’s always going to be this… little pocket of fondness, for how she made me feel, but that’s it,” she shrugs. “If it’s too much baggage for Susanna, I’ll understand. It’ll suck, but, I’ll get it. And, I’ll find somebody else eventually. But,” Luisa smiles now, utterly smitten, “I think Susanna is good for me. And, I actually think I’m weirdly good for her too. So, I hope it works out.”

Petra releases a heavy breath. “Wow,” she says in a hushed voice. “You sound like a mature, functioning adult.” Luisa barks out a laugh, shoving at Petra’s shoulder lightly. “It’s deeply disturbing,” Petra adds.

“Well, if I can get my shit together, you have no excuse not to.”

Petra’s hands grip the edge of her laptop tightly. “I know,” she says, barely audible.

…

…

Petra doesn’t know how long she has been in love with Jane.

It was never a real awareness so much as something occasionally tugging at the edges of her cognizance, reminding her that Jane is different from all of the other people in her life. That Jane, despite all of their previous interactions, is someone that she can trust. Someone that she can respect. Someone who in another life, Petra might have even wanted to befriend. And then, Jane held Petra’s hand in hers and upset her entire life just to keep Petra safe from an ex-boyfriend. She’d jumped to Petra’s defense against her family and friends time and time again, and wanted so desperately to give Petra some glimmer of happiness. Jane gave Petra all that she had to offer, and then she stood between Petra and her mother in the middle of a police station and cursed her out, and Petra knew that she loved Jane Gloriana Villanueva with all her heart.

She also knew in that moment there was a chance that her feelings might never be reciprocated. And she didn’t feel capable of doing anything more than allowing them to fester inside of her; to grow, more painful and far too large to contemplate with each passing day, until they were too much for her to ignore any longer. It isn’t until after the twins are born, until after Jane kisses her then runs away, that Petra realizes that she still wants Jane anyway. In whatever capacity she can get.

It’s very strange, caring more about Jane than about what Jane can do for her. Petra has always measured people by what they can provide for her; alleviate loneliness, present financial security, make her feel sexy, wanted, loved. Her relationships with other people have always been defined by what they contribute to her life, never the other way around. Even Jane started out that way; safety from Milos, an offer of friendship, a guide to motherhood. But now, Petra loves Jane, in a way that’s almost embarrassing, but doesn’t manage to feel like it. And part of her, doesn’t care whether or not Jane loves her back, as long as she remains in Jane’s life.

A very _small_ part of her, but still.

Jane bursts into her office, flushed, a little sweaty, and out of breath. “PETRA!” she yells, eyes darting around until they land on Petra.

“What?” she asks. “What’s wrong? Is Mateo—”

“He’s fine,” Jane interrupts. “Everyone’s fine.”

Jane, for her part does not look fine. Petra sets her pen down on top of the wedding invoice she’d been looking over. “Then what’s…”

“I just got back from talking to Michael,” Jane declares, still somewhat out of breath. “He called me this morning. I’d been meaning to check in with him anyway—about you looking into houses—and so I went down there and he had good news. Great news!” she stops pacing and presses her palms down on Petra’s desk, leaning forward and grinning from ear to ear. “Milos has been arrested.”

Petra laughs, close to bitter and Jane plows on.

“Some internet scam,” she shakes her head and begins pacing again. “I didn’t ask about the details. Just that he’s been arrested, and it’s big enough to get him twenty years in a Russian prison. Ivan is dead, Milos and your mother are both in jail,” she beams down at Petra. “You’re free,” she breathes.

And then, because Petra is not Jane, because her trepidation lies in far more selfish places than Jane’s ever will, and because her hurt tends to supersede everything else she should be feeling, she says flatly, “Well, I’m sure that means you’ll want a divorce sooner rather than later. Though, technically since it hasn’t been a quite full year yet, we can just get an annulment. Protect your precious… virtue or whatever.”

Jane’s entire face falls, and Petra’s chest feels tight, like everything inside of her that’s been straining to break free is finally leaking out, and there’s nothing she can do to stop it. “I’m sure that Rafael and Michael will both be pleased to have you on the market again. Not to mention having your bedroom and house back to yourself; no crying newborns to bother you, no bitchy, depressed, crazy woman to take care of and worry about,” she glances down at the ring still on Jane’s finger and tastes bile. She knows that she’s being cruel to someone who’s given her far too much, but she can’t stop. She always, _always_ goes too far. Apparently, she hasn’t matured as much as she thought. “You can take that ugly, cheap thing off and get back to your life. Pretend that none of this ever happened.”

Jane stares down at the ring on her finger, the deepest mix of purple it’s ever been, and Petra shoves herself away from her desk, standing and turning away from Jane. She feels her whole body shake, uncomfortable and exposing far too much of herself, and then Jane makes a sound, inarticulate and feral. Then, she pushes Petra.

She puts her weight into it, shoving Petra into the wall roughly. Her hands grasping desperately at Petra’s dress, in her hair, their rings knock together. “Shut up,” Jane gasps, her eyes burning into Petra’s. “Don’t say that.”

Before Petra can move, Jane leans in and kisses her hard, all tongue and teeth. Petra’s back is pressed uncomfortably into the edge of the wall, and Jane is sweaty and clawing at her like she might disappear. “Don’t say that,” Jane whispers into her mouth, and Petra’s breath hitches, their lips barely coming apart for an instant before Jane presses into her again, gentle this time. There’s still a desperation to it, but Jane forces herself to slow down. Her fingers splay against Petra’s abdomen, then at the small of her back, pulling her body into Jane’s with care.

Once, when she’s about eleven, Magda decides that Petra’s chore should be weeding the pathetic excuse for a garden that sits outside of their apartment complex. _No one else is making good use of it Natalia. You have to take opportunities when they come to you._ She works outside in the dry heat all morning, alternating between crouching on bare feet and bare knees, sweat pooling into her dress, pulling weed after weed up out of the earth until her fingers cramp up painfully. After hours of being hunched over and deadly focused on her task, she realizes that it’s raining about a mile away. She can smell it in the air, and when she looks up, she can see it: a misty gray sheet of water coming right for her. If she stays outside, she’ll be drenched right down to the bone, there’s enough time to put away the gardening tools and run for cover. Instead, she lays down on her stomach and watches it approach, her chin resting on her hands, braid falling into her eyes. Even at the last possible minute, as she hears the rain pounding the grass down flat, she lays there. Rolling over onto her back and closing her eyes, she sticks out her tongue, and lets the storm soak every inch of her.

That’s what this kiss feels like, Jane, washing over every bit of Petra, not an inch of her body uncovered. This time, Petra doesn’t lie there and allow it to happen, she trails her hands along the sides of Jane’s face, shoving her back and kissing her just as hard.

They’re both breathless and panting, Petra can feel tears on her cheeks and she isn’t sure if they’re her own, Jane’s, or both. She starts to cry, _please_ , but instead gasps out Jane’s name, pressing it back into her own lips, mouthing it down her neck, murmuring it over and over like a mantra as Jane kisses her way across Petra’s collarbone. Over and over, Jane’s name, like a thank-you, like a prayer.

When they pull apart again, they don’t get very far, Jane’s hands still holding Petra’s body close to her own, only pulling her face away enough to look up at her. “You’re an idiot,” she whispers.

“Excuse me?” Petra bristles.

“I’m an idiot,” Jane says, shaking her head and pulling further from Petra. Her hands never leave, sliding down Petra’s arms and knotting their fingers together. Jane takes a deep breath. “I… okay, I went about this all wrong. Admittedly, I _really_ didn’t expect you to react like _that_ to the news about Milos. I thought you’d be as relieved as I was to know that your safe now. But, I should have—I should have known based on past experience that you’d think I was kicking you to the curb. I mean, it’s _ridiculous_. After everything we’ve been through that you would think that, but,” she shakes her head and looks down at their hands. Their rings are knocked together, deep, vibrant purple. “I should have known. I’m sorry. But, you owe me an apology too, because some of that was really mean, and you can talk to me like that. Even if you’re scared and lashing out. You can’t. Not if we’re going to be…” she trails off, waving a hand between them as if that explains _anything._

“Jane…” Petra swallows thickly. “What are you—”

“I love you Petra,” Jane beams, the brightest smile that she’s ever given Petra. Her eyes are teary, and her voice is so thick that Petra inhales sharply, unable to believe the words that are coming out of Jane’s mouth. Her mouth that only moments ago, was pressed against her own, the remains of their kisses still tingling Petra’s lips. Jane squeezes Petra’s hand, and releases the other, reaching up to cup Petra’s chin, asking her to keep eye contact.

It’s too much, Petra has to close her eyes for a moment. Jane doesn’t move, her hand holding Petra’s chin as she continues talking.

“I’m not in love with Michael, I haven’t been for a really, really long time and you _know_ that. He’s the one that said—” Jane composes herself as Petra opens her eyes. “I knew. I mean I didn’t _know_ but I _knew._ You know what I mean?”

“No!” Petra yells in frustration. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!” her legs shake, threatening to give way, and Jane notices. Ushering Petra back down into her chair, Jane hovers above her, pressing against her knees, almost unwilling to put any space at all between them. Petra’s not complaining.

“Okay, I’m not explaining this well at all,” Jane runs her fingers through her hair. “Okay, so I’ve had feelings for you for a while. But I wasn’t sure if they were just… really intense friendship feelings, or something more. I’ve never had feelings for a woman before, not that I noticed at least,” she laughs, almost bitterly. “Heteronormativity is a bitch. I guess we can count this as me coming out as bisexual?”

She steps away from Petra for the first time since kissing her and begins pacing again, talking a mile a minute. It’s so familiar that Petra bites back a smile despite everything that she’s feeling right now.

“So, then I got scared. Because I wasn’t _sure_ you know? And I panicked because, you’ve become really important to me! You’re one of my best friends now, and I didn’t want to lose that. I didn’t know if you felt the same way, or would be angry, or… I _couldn’t_ lose having you in my life _._ But then, then you had the twins and I…” Jane’s voice cracks. “I was so proud of you,” she says, cupping Petra’s cheeks. “And,” she releases her, pacing again and Petra gasps at the loss of contact. “Everything was so overwhelming. I honestly didn’t even realize that I’d kissed you until you said I did. And then I panicked. Because I thought you were going to be mad, or let me down gently, and things would be so awkward. But you said…” Jane locks eyes with Petra, shrugging helplessly through her tears. “I got scared,” she admits. “It was scary enough thinking I had some unrequited crush on you, it was _terrifying_ to think you might feel the same way. Which, I understand is completely ironic, considering my obsession with all things romance,” she laughs. “By all accounts, I should have like, run into your arms from across the beach and declared my love.”

Petra laughs too, shaky and a little raw, but some of the tension pulls itself out of her shoulders. “I don’t want to do that,” she scoffs. “That would be incredibly embarrassing. People would be watching. And what if I dropped you! I have no upper body strength.”

Jane gives her that ridiculously bright grin again, laughing as she comes back to stand in front of Petra. “Yeah well, like I said, I was too scared anyway. I convinced myself that maybe it was all in my head, and if I just pretended that it wasn’t happening, then it would just _stop_ happening. But then I got so worried about you, and then we found out you had postpartum, and I didn’t want to overwhelm you, because your mental health comes first. But I missed you like crazy, and I wasn’t getting any sleep! And then you were _totally_ flirting with me, and saying that you were going to move away and I _really_ panicked.”

“I noticed,” Petra says dryly.

Jane swats her lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t make fun of me. I googled it and ‘gay panic’ is a real term,” she frowns. “Admittedly, a _really_ homophobic and horrible legal term, but… not actually what I’m talking about,” her frown deepens. “Okay, ignore all of that. So, wait, where was I?”

Petra bites at her bottom lip to keep from smiling. It doesn’t work. “Panicking after I flirted with you,” she supplies, feeling astoundingly brave.

“Right! So, I called Michael. Because as much as I love Lina, her romantic advice is usually, _‘I think you should totally just have sex and stop worrying so much about everything’,_ and that… isn’t as helpful as she thinks it is.”

Petra closes her eyes, desperately trying to ignore the image of Jane, naked, underneath her. From the hitch in Jane’s voice and the way her eyes darken when Petra opens her eyes to look at her, she’s having similar problems. But, she’s _Jane_ so she finds a way to plow on anyhow.

“So… Michael,” Jane clears her throat. “Michael knows me best. After my mom, and Abuela, and… well you.”

Perhaps she shouldn’t be, given everything that Jane has said thus far, but Petra is still surprised by this admission.

“Before I could explain what was going on, he was telling me about Milos. He was so excited, he wanted to tell you too, but he couldn’t reach your cell.”

(She’d ignored his calls. Stupidly. Childishly. Now, she wishes that she hadn’t. Seeing Michael’s earnest face as he tells Petra she’s finally free of Milos, getting one of his all-encompassing hugs, it would have been nice. She probably would have felt safe.)

“And, I was relieved that you were finally safe. For real. But, then Michael made a joke about us filling for divorce, and I just… well, I kind of started sobbing in the middle of the bullpen and scared the hell out of Greg,” Jane sighs while Petra tries to remember which officer is named Greg. She thinks that it might be the fat one Jane threatened who eats the illegal chocolate, but it could be the scrawny redhead who tripped on nothing when he was told he had to frisk her. It’s _really_ not important right now. Petra reaches up and takes Jane’s hand, squeezing once and waiting for her to continue.

Jane blows some hair out of her face and smiles shyly. “So, I barely told him anything and he figured it out. His exact words were, _‘dude, you love her’._ Then he laughed really hard. Then he hugged me for like five minutes. Then he told me to stop being a coward because I’ve never been one before. And he was totally right!” she’s devoid of tears now, her words speeding up again, one weaving into the other. “So, I came right back here and told Ma and Abuela everything.”

Petra gasps at that. “What?” she doesn’t think she can take it if Alba never speaks to her again. If Xiomara revokes all of the goodwill that Petra has agonizingly built up over the last ten months.

“Ma actually snorted and said, _‘yeah, no kidding’._ Then she just went right back to reading her lines for my Dad’s show!” Jane throws her arms into the air, aghast. “Can you believe that? She just… ignored me. That was that. Nothing else. Abuela walked over and gave me a hug and told me some… very sweet things and a few things that made me feel like an idiot. But, it boiled down to, _‘what are you standing around telling us things we already know for? Go talk to Petra.’_ So, I came here, and then… you said some things you still owe me an apology for, and then I made you cry, and then we kissed and… now I’m done,” Jane releases a huge breath of relief and sits down on top of Petra’s desk. “That was a lot of explaining. Do you have any water?”

Petra blinks at her. “Are you kidding me?”

“No,” Jane says, completely serious. “I’m really thirsty.”

Almost in a daze, Petra rises from her chair, walks over towards the mini kitchenette in her office and pours Jane a glass of water. “Here,” she turns around and hands it to Jane, who accepts it gratefully, gulping it down in seconds. “I _am_ sorry,” Petra says, hating everything she said. She’s going to have lots to talk about with Dr. Villafañe on Thursday. Her coping mechanisms, right at the top of the list. After, _‘Jane loves me.’_

“Thank you,” Jane sets the empty glass down on top of Petra’s desk. “Apology accepted, but it can’t become a thing,” she sucks in another breath and adds, almost too quickly for Petra to follow, “So, you’re safe from Milos, and we don’t have to be fake married anymore. Or, real married for fake reasons,” she frowns, then gives up. “I know that there are a _lot_ of things we should talk about: Mateo, the twins, your postpartum, our living situations, and we _will_. But… I’d sort of like to… date you?” she says this so earnestly, so shyly, that Petra laughs, and laughs, and laughs. Full bellied, so full of joy in a way that she hasn’t felt since she was a child.

Jane actually pouts and Petra steps forward, pushing Jane’s knees apart and placing herself between them. She cups Jane’s cheeks and kisses her, savoring every second. The way that Jane moans into her mouth, her hands grasping at Petra’s back, pulling her closer. The way they’re both laughing too hard to really be kissing, relieved and elated to be wrapped up in each other. To have everything, splayed out into the open. Well, almost everything. Petra presses her forehead against Jane’s, her eyes falling closed. If Jane can be brave, Petra can too.

“I love you too,” she whispers. Then, “We should definitely date.”

Jane almost cackles with delight, the noise so loud and excited and _right by Petra’s ear_ that she winces and grins in unison. Relishing in the taste of Jane’s mouth on hers once more. In the feeling of Jane’s hands roaming her body. Of _Jane,_ period. Here, in her arms, saying she that loves Petra, and Petra _believing_ her. They’re not the same people they were an hour ago, and they never will be again. They know each other too well to turn back now.

Petra keeps laughing in between each kiss, Jane’s grin growing bigger and bigger with each giggle that emits from Petra. And then neither of them are laughing at all, their mouths far too busy with each other. Petra has never been so unsure of what is about to happen in her life without caring a single bit about it. She kisses Jane, and smiles.


	15. there's always a woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes, i'm so sorry this took so long to get out. i'm on the opposite side of the country, back working my old job at very little notice. today is literally the first time i've had a few hours to sit down and even think about writing something. things have settled a bit now, so hopefully that won't happen again. but i'm up in the remote mountains with basically no internet living with crazy people, so honestly, anything could happen.
> 
> i can't wait till october, counting down the days till i'm back home.

“We should…” Jane kisses her again, and again, then again. Then she groans, right into Petra’s mouth. “We… should… probably… stop now,” she groans unhappily once more, pulling her face away. It takes immense effort for Petra to slide her hands out from underneath Jane’s shirt. Her skin hot and full of goosebumps, she shivers as Petra’s fingers lightly graze over her stomach one more time, letting out a groan once more from the loss of contact and knocking their foreheads together. “It’s just that I—”

“Made a promise to your grandmother,” Petra finishes along with Jane, mouth pink and grinning wide. “I know.”

“I told her that I’d wait for marriage,” Jane’s eyes never leave Petra’s lips, and she can feel Jane squirming a little beneath her.

Petra’s grin widens. “Jane, we _are_ married,” she holds up her hand, mood ring on display.

“Right,” Jane bites at her lip. Petra can sense her nervousness. “Technically that is true.”

Petra moves off of Jane, lying down beside her on the bed and directing her gaze towards the ceiling. They have been staunchly avoiding this topic for the last two weeks. There has been no talk of the future, their marriage and what to do about it, housing arrangements, the kids—nothing. It’s been two weeks of making out at every opportunity like a pair of horny teenagers, dinners shared each night, texting constantly throughout the day—everything she ever imagined that it could be. But Petra knew that it couldn’t last. The elephant in the room is far too large, but it had been _wonderful_ while it lasted.

“So,” Petra hums, “about that…”

“Yeah, we should probably talk,” Jane agrees. “It’s just that,” she grins over at Petra, her eyes falling down to Petra’s lips. “Kissing is a lot more fun.”

“I agree,” Petra smiles.

“But we need to talk about it,” Jane says, her eyes still on Petra’s lips, trying to contort her face into something serious. Petra sighs and sits up against the headboard, Jane following suit. Before Petra can school her face and prepare herself for the worst, Jane’s hand slips into her own and squeezes. Her thumb rubbing gently across the back of Petra’s hand. “So, you wanted to buy a house,” Jane’s voice is trying too hard to appear neutral. “Is that still something you want?”

“Yes,” Petra breathes. Honesty. They agreed. And her therapist encouraged. “I want the girls to have a home of their own.”

“Right,” Jane nods, her thumb picking up speed. She’s nervous. Petra is _terrified._ But… she’s done being terrified of Jane.

“Jane,” Petra waits until Jane is looking at her. “I don’t actually want to keep dating,” she admits.

The circular motions on Petra’s hand freeze.

“But… you said…”

“I mean, I _do._ I… want to go out to dinner and do whatever. That’s not,” Petra sucks in a breath and sits up a little straighter. “I mean that I don’t need to date you and see how I feel. I know how I feel, and I know what I want. Time isn’t going to change that.”

“Um…”

“It’s okay if you’re not there yet, because I’ve known how I feel about you longer than you’ve known how you feel about me. And, I’m not saying that this has to happen next week, or even next year if you’re not ready, but…” _Be brave._ “I want the girls to have a home, but I don’t want it to just be me and the girls. If it’s something that you want too, I want you and Mateo there with us. I… want them to have a family.”

Jane grins. “Just them?” she teases.

Petra quells the urge to smack her, but all of the panicked tension seeps out of her body, and she laughs. “Well, ideally I’d be involved in this family too. I did spend a very long and painful day giving birth to two of the members.”

Jane’s grin widens. “So… you want to buy a house and stay married?”

“Um…” the panicking is back. “Yes?”

Jane jumps on top of her. Kissing her so hard that Petra barely hears the ‘ _yeses’_ uttered in between them. Finally, she pulls back just enough to press their foreheads together again. “I’ve been trying to figure out a way to say that’s basically what I want for the last two weeks without sounding like an insane person,” she admits. “I thought it might be moving way too fast. But, then I remembered that technically, we’ve been married and living together for the last year already, so, it can’t really be that fast can it?”

Petra sits up and Jane crawls off of her. “Does it feel too fast?” she asks. “Because honestly, I’ve never had a normal or healthy relationship before, so I have no idea.”

Jane’s face twists into a familiar frown. The same face that she makes each time they discuss anything related to Magda, or Petra’s post-Soviet childhood.

“Does your therapist think it sounds too fast?” she asks finally.

“Yes, and no.”

“Explain,” Jane sits cross legged. Petra can see her scanning the area for a pen and paper to take notes. She rolls her eyes and hands Jane her phone, open to the note app.

“Yes, because we only very recently started actually acting like a couple. In the sense that we’re both aware that we’re in a relationship. And because she’s worried that I’ll hinge all of my happiness on you, and if you’re taken out of the equation, my depression might worsen, instead of continuing to improve.”

Jane types furiously as Petra talks, only looking up and frowning at the last part. “And… the no?” she asks, almost cautiously.

“No, because we’ve basically been in a mutually beneficial and day to day relationship for the last year. We know what it’s like to live together. We’ve had fights and gotten past them. We’ve dealt with all three children at once and individually, and, according to her, we bring out the best in one another.”

Jane beams. “Have I mentioned lately how much I like your therapist? What a smart woman that Laura Villafañe.”

“Please be serious.”

“I am being serious,” Jane types away again for a moment, then passes Petra’s phone back to her. “I’ve been writing a pros and cons list with Abuela, Ma, and Dad’s help.”

“Of course you have,” Petra says dryly, scrolling down to what Jane just forwarded to her.

“It says,” Jane promptly ignores Petra’s tone. “That there could potentially be quite a few cons to us not taking our time and getting used to this relationship without adding the stress of a new house and children to the equation.”

“Yes,” Petra feels her stomach drop as she scrolls through the list. “I can see that.”

“But, we came up with a lot more pros.”

Petra frowns, reaching the second half of the list. “This is much shorter.”

“It’s weighted,” Jane grins.

Petra reads it and feels her stomach drop even further, not out of dread this time, out of pure shock.

The pros list reads as follows:

_Petra_

_Anna and Elsa_

_Our Family_

_Eventual Married Sex approved by both God and Abuela : )_

This time Petra is the one to jump on top of Jane.

Jane squeals with delight, pulling Petra as close as possible. “So, we’re really doing this then?” she asks after a moment of kissing.

Petra looks down at the woman she is totally, and completely in love with, and smiles. “Yes.”

…

…

She should have known that there is no possible way for her life to start having normal problems. Children spitting up on clothing. Appointments running late. Best friends giving you much more information about their blissed out sex life than you ever needed to know. Dramatic father in laws wanting to throw embarrassing parties.

Anything but a twin sister that you never even knew existed showing up at your door in the middle of the night.

A woman with her face, hunched shoulders, sallow skin, and uncombed brown hair launches herself into Petra’s arms and she goes numb with shock, arms hanging limply at her sides.

She and Jane decided not to change up their rooms at The Marbella until they found a house that they both liked. It added to the allure of dating and taking some more time to ease into things. So, Petra is alone when Anezka shows up. Ambushed.

She does her best to handle something that is better suited to Alba’s telenovelas as well as one possible can. Which is to say, she panics.

“I’m sorry,” Petra paces the length of her living room, trying not to look at the woman sitting on the couch. “Tell me one more time?”

Her accent thick, Anezka repeats what she has told Petra three times already. She grew up in an orphanage in Prague. At fifteen, she was sent to what they called a girls boarding school, but was really a group home for delinquents and wards of the state. She stayed there until she turned eighteen. For the last twelve years, she’s been on her own, moving from flat to flat, odd job to odd job, trying to find out what became of her family.

“And then I found the birth records and I knew!” she says with a bright smile. It fits on her sallow, malnourished face so much more easily than one has ever sat on Petra’s. It’s unnerving, to watch your own face smile up at you. Petra suddenly wonders what Anna and Elsa are going to think about it once they’re older. Whether or not it will be as uncomfortable for them as it feels for her right now.

“And you saw me in a magazine?”

“Yes!” Anezka pulls it out, pointing at the picture that she and Rafael had taken nearly two and a half years ago in The Marbella lobby. “My beautiful sister and her beautiful husband.”

“Ex,” Petra says. “Ex-husband.”

“Oh,” Anezka’s face falls. “I’m terribly sorry.”

“I’m not. It’s fine. I’m… I have someone else. It’s a very complicated story.”

“I will listen,” Anezka waits patiently, hands folded in her lap and Petra nearly screams.

“No,” she says. “It’s late. And… we’re going to meet someone first thing tomorrow morning and figure all of this out.”

“Who?”

Petra swallows thickly. “Our mother.”

…

…

She doesn’t tell Jane.

She can’t seem to find a way to utter the words, or type them out without feeling like she’s going absolutely crazy. She informs the nannies that she’ll be busy all morning and ushers Anezka out the door and into a cab the very minute that she wakes up.

This can’t be possible. Maybe she’s hallucinating. Maybe as her depression gets better, she is actually going insane instead. Maybe this is Milos, back to do her in while wearing her own face. A perverse irony. Sin Rostro had an entire medical lab hidden in The Marbella’s basements that allowed for this sort of insanity, maybe this is how Petra is going to die.

Fuck, she should have called Jane.

But if Anezka is in fact Milos wearing her face, he’s suddenly become a much better actor than he ever was before. It doesn’t seem possible, that this almost childlike, shy woman could be anything but earnestly real. Petra reaches out and pokes at her shoulder with her pointer finger, just to see. Anezka only turns to her and smiles.

Petra hasn’t seen her mother since she was arrested. She slumps back in her chair to put a few more inches between them, glancing over at the eager way that Anezka keeps darting her hands forward and yanking them back, almost desperate for Magda’s affection. Petra doesn’t want to be here, more than anything in the world, but she can’t imagine asking this over the phone. She needs to see Magda’s face. She needs to know what the hell is going on.

“There were two. I didn’t have enough money for two,” Magda shrugs. “So I got rid of one.”

She says this as if explaining that she accidentally bought two cups of coffee, and gave the extra to a passerby. Not that she gave birth to twin girls, and kept one while abandoning the other, never telling either of them. Petra shouldn’t be surprised. After everything that’s happened, this feels almost inevitable. Of _course_ there is something more. But then, she looks beside her and watches Anezka fold up into herself, her face going blank and eyes dead. It’s as if it isn’t her own face being mirrored back anymore. Or, maybe because it _is_ her face, but Petra is suddenly furious. Magda doesn’t get to hurt Anezka the way that she has hurt Petra time and time again.

“You’re a horrible person,” Petra says, feeling calmer than she has since Anezka showed up. Eerily calm. Magda and Anezka’s eyes both snap to her. She doesn’t look away from her mother. “You’re a terrible mother. You’ve had a very hard life, and I’m sorry for that, but it doesn’t excuse the way that you’ve treated me for the last thirty years. And it doesn’t excuse what you did to Anezka,” she swallows, thinking of Alba and Xiomara. “I’ve seen how mothers can still make sure that their children feel loved even when they’re struggling themselves, and you never tried to give either of us that.”

Her voice is much stronger than she’s ever imagined that it would be, were she able to finally gather the courage to tell her mother exactly how she feels. Magda, for once in her life, looks completely shocked at something that Petra has done.

“My children are never going to know you,” Petra relaxes back in her chair, the nervous slump of only a few minutes before gone entirely now. Her mother takes notice, straightening up in defense. “And maybe I won’t be a perfect mother,” she laughs bitterly. “Maybe I’ll be a terrible one. But I will make sure that they are surrounded by people who love them. Who _want_ them. And I’ll make damn sure that they never feel like a burden I have to bare.”

She rises, standing above her mother. This woman once loomed so large, so encompassing; she was Petra’s entire world. Now, Petra can look down at her and find that the desperate tugging need for her approval seems to have vanished.

She smiles. And it doesn’t feel cruel, or mocking, or even satisfying. She just feels light. Unburdened from the constant fear that she would end up exactly like this woman, and that she would never be able to gain her love. Petra won’t ever feel loved by Magda the way that she wanted for so many years. The way that she _deserves_ to feel. But it doesn’t matter anymore.

Because Petra will never become this woman. She feels it with a surety that she never thought capable, so, she smiles.

“Come on Anezka,” Petra reaches out her hand and hoists her sister to her feet. “We don’t need to be here anymore. She can’t give us anything.”

Anezka looks less sure, but she grips Petra’s hand tightly and allows herself to be tugged out the door. Magda calls for them both to come back, angry and hurt and being left behind, but Petra doesn’t look back once.

…

…

“I’m sorry, you have a _sister_ and you didn’t call me. And you went to visit your _bitch,_ ” she mouths, “of a mother, and _you didn’t call me?”_

“A lot happened in the span of very little time,” Petra defends herself. “Also, it felt like something that I needed to do alone.”

Jane frowns, clearly unhappy, but she nods anyway. “Are you okay?”

Petra snorts. “With which thing?”

“All of it,” Jane moves up and wraps her arms around Petra’s middle, pulling her into a half hug, half embrace. “I can’t believe you have a twin sister. Where is she right now?”

“Taking a shower.”

“Anezka,” Jane tries the name out. “Does she look exactly like you?”

“I’m prettier,” Petra says immodestly. “Her hair’s brown.”

Jane whacks Petra on the arm. “My mom’s hair is brown. So is Abuela’s. And Luisa’s. Brown hair is very pretty,” she brushes her own hair off each shoulder exaggeratedly. “Second only to black.”

Petra rolls her eyes and walks over to get a glass of water. “The two statements weren’t connected to one another. You asked if she looked exactly like me. I told you that her hair is brown, and that I’m prettier. Two different things.”

“Don’t be vain,” Jane chides.

“I’m not. I _am_ prettier. It’s just a fact. Her hair needs an incredible amount of conditioning, and she needs to eat regular meals with vegetables or her skin is going to stay dry and sallow forever.”

Anezka chooses this moment to walk into the living room, clutching a towel around her and dripping the water from her hair all over the floor.

Jane jumps to attention, almost diving in for a hug and at the last second sticking out her hand instead. “Hi, I’m Jane. It’s so nice to meet you.”

Anezka looks at Jane warily for about half a second, then shrugs and shakes her hand. “I have no clothes,” she directs towards Petra. “All dirty.”

Petra huffs through her nose, then points towards her bedroom. “The closet’s full. Find something for now. We can go shopping later.”

Anezka lights up and runs at Petra, muttering ‘ _thank you’,_ over and over again as she hugs her tightly. Petra’s entire front is wet by the time Anezka runs off into her bedroom.

“I hate having a sister,” Petra announces. “Sharing gives me hives.”

Jane laughs, pulling a stray brown hair off Petra’s shoulder before sliding an arm around her waist. “You share things with me all the time. And we’re not even remotely the same size for anything.”

“But I _like_ you,” Petra grimaces in the direction of her bedroom.

“Just like?” Jane teases.

Petra rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to get all mushy and weird just because I’m in love with you.”

Jane laughs and rises up on her toes to give Petra a kiss. “Sure, think that if you want.”

…

…

“Holy shit,” Luisa breathes, watching Anezka introduce herself shyly to Rafael. “This is so trippy.”

Petra hums, watching Alba and Susanna both try to politely navigate the hugs that Anezka foists upon them. Rogelio has no trouble with hugs whatsoever.

“Holy _shit,_ ” Luisa repeats.

…

…

Petra gets Anezka a job waitressing at The Marbella. Jane is mostly tasked with training her.

It’s a disaster.

“I told her to marry the ketchups and she started performing a ceremony,” Jane laughs. “It was kind of adorable to be honest, I let her finish before I told her what I meant.”

“God, I’m going to have to fire my own sister aren’t I?” Petra groans.

“No, no, no, no,” Jane assures her. “Just give me a little more time. Lina and I can get her there.”

Petra looks doubtful, which, if anything fuels Jane’s determination.  

…

…

“She is your wife?” Anezka asks.

“Technically, it’s… complicated.”

Anezka frowns. “You love her and she loves you, and you are married, with children,” she states. “What… is complicated about this?”

Petra sighs, hearing Xiomara’s laughter coming from the hallway. “It didn’t really happen in that order.”

Xiomara walks into the kitchen. “Petra sort of got Jane knocked up accidentally when _she_ was trying to get knocked up. And then they hated each other, and then Petra knocked _herself_ up _._ And then they got married, and actually became friends. And _then_ they fell in love,” she supplies while reaching over Petra and taking the coffee she was about to pour for herself. “What’s complicated about explaining that?” she smirks.

“I’m… very confused,” Anezka admits painfully.

Xiomara laughs and wraps an arm around Anezka’s shoulders. “Honey, we all are. Welcome to the family.”

…

…

True to her word, Jane somehow whips Anezka into shape.

It helps that Petra has started tapping her lightly to remind her of her posture every five minutes. Once she’s standing up straight, she can carry as many plates as Jane without missing a beat. Whatever nonsense flash cards the two of them had been up with every night, a twin in each of their arms, Anezka now knows the menu inside and out.  

She lights up at the slightest bit of praise or affection. Something that tugs at a place inside of Petra that is no longer as raw as it once was, but hurts in a different way to see projected back from her sister’s face.

Affection still doesn’t come as easy to Petra as it does to Jane, but she makes a point to touch Anezka at least once a day. An awkward hand on her shoulder in passing, handing off a twin and lingering a beat longer than necessary, sitting beside her on the couch, slowly working up to more. Anezka almost seems to contort herself like a cat, pressing up against anyone who’s close enough like she fuels herself on it alone. She hugs Petra at every given opportunity. Sits so close that she is practically in her lap sometimes. And occasionally, her hand will just find itself fitting into Petra’s when they’re walking down the hallways.

Not to mention the three times that Petra has woken up to find Anezka sleeping down at the end of her bed, scaring the living shit out of her and waking up Jane.

Petra allows some of this, and absolutely shoves her off whenever she feels uncomfortable. For her part, Anezka never seems offended, only grateful that she gets it at all.

Which, makes Petra both hate and ache for her all in one.

She doesn’t know what to make of it, suddenly having a sister. There is an entire person here that was never there before, but who feels so achingly familiar, that it makes her want to scream.

…

…

It’s Anezka, who gives Elsa her nickname.

Petra walks into the living room and finds Anezka alone with both girls. Anna in her arms and Elsa, lying on her back on the carpet, trying to make a grab for Anezka’s hair.

“Ellie don’t pull,” she says good naturedly, gently tugging her hair out of the tiny fists. “It hurts when you do that,” she explains.

“Ellie?” Petra asks.

Anezka looks up and folds into herself. “Sorry, I just… Elsa.”

“No,” Petra thinks about it for a moment. “I like it. It’s a good nickname.”

Anezka lights up, a now familiar sight. “Her hair’s dark like mine, and Anna’s is light like yours.”

“Yes,” Petra hums. Anezka has made this point many times before.

“But they will grow up together,” she adds. A mixture of incredible happiness for them, and sad to think that she and Petra never got that chance. Petra swallows thickly; she can only imagine how different her life might have been if she’d had a sister by her side throughout her childhood. Someone to share the burden with, if nothing else.

“Yes,” Petra picks Elsa up from the floor. “They will.” Tentatively, she situates herself directly beside Anezka, their thighs pressed against one another, each holding a twin that mirrors the other in their arms. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure that I’m done growing up yet either.”

“I’m not,” Anezka announces happily. “So we’ll grow up together then too.”

“Yes,” Petra smiles at her sister. “I suppose we will.”


	16. love, i hear

She _might_ be going overboard with this whole brunch thing. Giving Jane an invitation by slipping it through her door at The Marbella instead of just _asking_ her is—by the look on Jane’s face as she chases Petra into the hall—ridiculous.

“Oh, hi Jane,” Petra stammers, feeling like a moron.

Jane smiles, the one that Petra has come to realize is reserved solely for her and her alone. It makes her ridiculously happy. Almost annoyingly so.

“Petra,” she smirks, holding up the invitation. “Is this for me?”

“Um, yes. You, and your mother, and Alba. It’s not a big deal,” Petra shrugs, as if the invitations alone didn’t cost her hundreds of dollars.

“Mother’s day brunch?” Jane scans the card. “At noon?”

Petra has gotten particularly apt at reading the expressions on Jane’s face in the last year, something’s wrong, but she’s trying not to show it. “What?” she asks.

“No, it’s just…” Jane swallows. “Nothing, this looks great Petra. Of course we’ll all come. But, you could have just asked.”

“Right.”

“Instead of slipping it through our door and running away,” Jane adds.

“Yes. I understood what you meant.”

Jane’s smile is back. “Okay, great,” she waits, smirking as Petra shifts her weight uncomfortably.

“Um…”

Jane rolls her eyes, reaches up on her toes, and kisses Petra, laughing as she pulls away and walks back into her room. “Bye!” she calls, leaving Petra embarrassed and giddy.

…

…

Apparently she forgot when Mateo’s nap time is scheduled.

And her own daughters’.

She’s really doing great with this whole mothering thing so far. Two schedule changes—Jane stops her from having new invitations printed out—and Petra feels like an idiot.

She feels like an even bigger idiot when she finds out that simply by having this brunch, she’s ruining the Villanueva women’s typical Mother’s Day tradition of pajamas and telenovela marathons.

Petra very nearly cancels the whole thing outright, her surprise for Jane with it, but Michael stops her.

“No,” he grabs her shoulders gently. “It’s a good idea. Jane is going to love it.” He straightens up, chuckling slightly. “She’s going to bawl her eyes out though, so prepare yourself.”

“Why would she cry?” Anezka asks, frowning at the computer screen displaying the movie they’re editing together. “This is a nice thing that my sister is doing.”

“That’s why she’ll cry,” Michael says.

“She’ll cry _because_ it’s nice,” Petra says, at the exact same time. Michael grins at her.

“I still think it’d be hilarious if you flashed the camera at the end,” Luisa pipes up. “There’s still time.”

“I’m _not_ flashing Jane’s entire family on camera,” Petra snaps. Anezka laughs and Petra glares at her, causing her twin to hunch over and try to cover her mouth—she fails. “This is ridiculous!” Petra yells. “I hate all of you!”

“Yeah, I feel like that’s a lie,” Luisa teases. She whacks Michael in the arm. “Do you think that’s a lie? I think that Petra loves all of us, and it’s breaking her icy cold reputation.”

“Oh yeah, her reputation’s totally ruined,” Michael agrees, leaning on the back of the couch and smirking over at Petra. “She’s been found out. Petra Villanueva: total softie. She’s all marshmallow inside, the bitchy exterior’s a trick.”

“Do not call my sister names,” Anezka says forcefully.

Completely despite herself, Petra feels a smile tug at her mouth.

“See!” Michael points, yelling and whacking Luisa back. “Marshmallow!”

“Gooiest marshmallow ever,” Luisa reaches up and wraps her arms around Petra’s middle, still sitting on the couch. Anezka frowns, but then shrugs, reaching over and hugging Petra as well. She’s squished in between the both of them, and she watches Michael laugh and run over to sit on the floor and hug Petra’s legs. All her attempts to kick him away fail once he gets a good grip on her.

“Stop hugging me,” she orders all of them. Not a one relents. “You are all aware that this is ridiculous right?”

Rafael walks into the room. “Um…” he tilts his head to the side and looks down at Michael, then up to his sister, and finally Anezka before locking eyes with Petra. “Should I be hugging you too?”

“No,” Petra snaps. “Everyone should stop hugging me.”

Rafael laughs, and finally, everyone releases Petra. The room clears out, and then it’s just Petra and Rafael. She hasn’t been alone with him since she and Jane told everyone that they were officially together. It’s been weeks of having the nannies, or Anezka, or Jane as a buffer. Petra shifts awkwardly on her feet for a moment, then inhales. She will not act like she’s uncomfortable around Rafael.

“So, you wanted my help for something for Jane?” he doesn’t look any more comfortable than Petra feels. Normally, she would feel vindicated by this, but now it just makes her sad. She doesn’t want her relationship with Rafael to be strained in any way. She doesn’t want the girls to ever feel tension between them.

Petra nods. “It’s a video,” she motions towards the small camera. “Just… sort of saying how you view her as a mother and just in general. I thought it might be nice.”

“It is,” Rafael swallows thickly. “It’s… thoughtful and romantic.”

“Yes…” Petra stammers. “Well…”

Rafael sighs. “Petra I don’t…” he pauses, running a hand through his hair before giving her a weak smile. “I think we’re both aware of the fact that I’m not thrilled by this. I still have feelings for Jane. She knows that, and you know that, and… I’m trying to get over her. But I thought…” he laughs, bitterly. “I don’t know what I thought, but knowing that she doesn’t feel the same way anymore, knowing how she feels about you… it’s hard. But I’m trying. I don’t want things to be weird between all of us. I want to be able to see my kids regularly without it being a problem that we all have to work through.”

“That’s what I want too,” Petra assures him. “I’m not… trying to rub it in your face. I just wanted you to be a part of it—if you want to.”

He nods, moving over to sit in front of the camera. “I do.”

“Okay, just… say whatever you’d like and we’ll add it. I’m going to get a glass of water. Do you want one?”

Rafael smiles at her, almost in the same way that he used to, two or three years ago. He knows that she is trying to give him some space. “Sure, thanks.”

“Your welcome,” Petra walks out of the room, hearing him begin to talk to the camera.

…

…

Petra hasn’t felt this awkward and desperate to perform in ages. The room is full of people that she has come to love, trust, and admire, and yet… she’s acting as if she would have nearly four years ago: forced smiles, mindless chitchat, unable to just sit _still_ and relax. She’s too anxious.

It’s Rafael of all people that knocks her out of it.

“You’re being Scary Petra,” he says, calmly sipping a mimosa. “It’s freaking everybody out—Jane included.”

“Shut up,” Petra snaps, because he’s right, and she’s more annoyed with herself than anything else. The fact that Rafael only laughs lightly and chugs the rest of his mimosa infuriates her further. “You’re an asshole,” she bites.

“Yeah, I know. Sometimes, so are you. It’s why we like each other.”

“That’s not why I like you,” she frowns, fingering her own champagne flute. It’s only full of orange juice. After many disastrous attempts at nursing, and multiple attempts to switch off to formulas, she’s finally found some semblance of a balance between the two that works for herself, _and_ for the girls. (Jane was absurdly proud—Petra only admitted it to her shrink, but so was she. It felt like the first maternal thing that she actually managed to figure out on her own.)

She taps at the side of her glass without looking Rafael in the eyes. “That’s not really why you like me, is it?” she asks, not liking how small her voice sounds.

Raf gives her a smile that she’s only seen him direct towards Jane as of late—fond, amused, almost teasing. He takes the empty glass out of her hands. “No, that’s not why I like you.” His arm slings around her shoulder, warm and gentle. It’s a casual intimacy that neither of them have shown the other in years, maybe never. Now, there’s no underlying sexual tension to it at all: just affection for one another, plain and simple. “It is _one_ of the reasons why I like you though. You don’t apologize for who you are,” he knocks his forehead against Petra’s lightly and whispers. “So why are you freaking out _now?_ All these people already love you. They came to this party because you asked them to. None of them give a shit if the food arrives at precisely 1:04pm. Relax.”

“Just so you know, mostly, I hate you,” Petra pushes his arm off her shoulder, but she’s grinning, and Raf knows it.

“Good to know,” he laughs, and goes off to sit by Michael and Rogelio.

Luisa takes her brother’s place beside Petra. “Video’s ready whenever you are,” she whispers. “Might as well go for presents now.”

Petra swallows and nods. “Okay.”

Luisa loops her arm through Petra’s, tugging her over to the couch. “She’s gonna love it,” she whispers. “They all are.”

“What if it’s embarrassing?”

“Why would a video of everyone she loves telling them how much they love her be embarrassing?”

“My section is very personal. I think we shouldn’t do it.”

Luisa yanks Petra a little closer. “You’re panicking, and she’s going to love it.”

“I think I hate you and your brother. I’m uninviting you both,” Petra points towards the door with her free hand. “Go home. Your invitations are receded.”

Luisa beams at her, then reaches up, grabs Petra’s face and pulls her down, kissing her on the forehead before pushing her away. “I love you so much too,” she turns towards the rest of the room. “Petra’s got a surprise present for Jane! Everybody go sit by the tv,” she announces.

Petra hates her, so _so_ much.

“Really?” Jane asks, moving over to pull Petra down onto the couch with her, Mateo on her lap.

“It’s really not a big deal,” Petra whispers.

“Yeah, sure,” Jane grins, slipping her hand into Petra’s and directing her attention towards the television screen. “I can’t wait anyway.”

Petra sits stiffly between Jane and her sister, her eyes only flickering up to the screen every so often before darting towards Jane, then down at the floor. She listens to Alba and Xiomara’s calm and proud declarations, Anezka and Susanna’s awkward ones, Rogelio, Lina, and Luisa’s enthusiastic ones, and Michael and Rafael’s, fond, no hint of longing or regret from either of them. Finally, she hears her own voice and can’t manage to look up again at all. Not at the screen, and not at Jane.

“I think you’re aware that I’m terrible at things like this,” her voice begins, stiffly. Petra remembers tugging at her shirt and stopping herself, trying not to look as awkward as she felt. Jane’s hand entwined with her own squeezes. She’s already crying. She’s been crying since the minute that she realized what was happening, when Xiomara kicked things off.

“But,” the Petra on screen continues. “I know how much you like… idiotic grand romantic gestures,” she sighs, as if it inconveniences her. Petra looks up, her face on screen gives everything away, she loves this _almost_ as much as Jane does.

And Jane knows it.

“Petra,” she whispers through her tears. “You…” Jane trails off, shaking her head and trying to compose herself. Then her attention is directed back to the Petra on screen, the hand in Petra’s squeezing nearly hard enough to lose feeling.

“I’m… not sure where I would be right now if it wasn’t for you,” Petra admits, shifting on the couch that she’d filmed herself on. “Probably deeply depressed, married to Milos, and… maybe not even a mother at all.”

Petra keeps her gaze down on her knees, unable to watch herself. Everyone else in the room has gone silent, their full attention focused on the television screen. Jane’s body is absolutely still, apart from the one hand squeezing Petra’s own, the other loosely holding Mateo in her lap, and the tears falling freely down her cheeks.

“I’m… you know how terrifying motherhood still is to me. I watch you with Mateo, and, I don’t know if I’ll ever be like that with the girls. But, you’ve taught me that maybe that’s alright. Watching you with Alba, and Xiomara, and Mateo this last year, I’ve come to see a much different side of motherhood than I knew before. And to learn that one size doesn’t have to fit all,” on screen, Petra swallows. Her eyes dart down, away from the camera. Thickly, she adds, “If it hadn’t been for you, I don’t think that I would have the courage to be a mother. I certainly wouldn’t ever be a good one without your influence. And… as much as the thought still scares me at times,” Petra glances back up, eyes meeting the camera head on. “I’m beginning to love it. Being with the girls. With Mateo. With our family.”

Jane cries harder, silently, but the tears fall fast enough that Mateo frowns, annoyed by the wetness on top of his head.

“There is a lot more that I’d like to tell you, but this isn’t supposed to be hours and hours long. And the point was motherhood. Because… well… it’s Mother’s Day,” Petra adds, back to awkward. On the couch, she grimaces at herself and wills this to be over. “So, I just wanted to say thank you. I don’t think those words will ever come close to covering all that you’ve done for me, but, I’ll keep saying them until hopefully they do,” Petra sucks in a breath, combating tears of her own and locks eyes with the camera. “I love you Jane,” she says through a teary smile. “There is no better person I can think of to make my children feel loved and supported. Mateo and the twins are the luckiest children in the world. Happy Mother’s Day.”

Jane is bawling now. So much so that she quickly passes Mateo to Rafael and lunges herself at Petra. It’s the tightest, fiercest hug that Petra has ever been a part of, and she revels in it, despite being in public. Thankfully, everyone seems to clap and then give them a moment, moving towards the food and the just waking twins.

“I… can’t… believe… you… did…” Jane hasn’t released Petra, not even an inch. Through her tears, she tries to talk and then just gives up, kissing Petra all over the face and laughing. “I love you so much,” she finally manages to whisper once she’s calmed down a bit. “That was… the most amazing present ever.”

“All I did was talk at a camera,” Petra jokes. “You’re pretty cheap.”

Jane finally pulls back and whacks Petra’s arm. “Don’t ruin this for me, I’m blissed out on love right now.”

Petra laughs. “Weird, so am I. Maybe it’s contagious.”

“God,” Jane laughs, wiping at her teary face. “You are such an idiot.” She leans in, kissing Petra, far too slowly and deeply for their entire family to be watching.

“I think I might have a problem with public displays of affection,” Petra whispers once Jane finally pulls away. Luisa catches her eye and winks suggestively. Susanna scolds her, pulling her over towards Rafael and Mateo, giving Petra an apologetic smile before turning around.

“Well, I don’t,” Jane laughs, and kisses her again. Rogelio takes at least four pictures and puts all of them on Instagram. All in all, this party is a much bigger success than Petra could have ever hoped for.

…

…

Petra and Anezka are invited to the traditional Villanueva Mother’s Day celebration once the party is over.

The only requirement is that you must be in your pajamas, and ready to sit for hours on a couch.

Thankfully, the Villanueva household is finally fixed, and they are able to celebrate as they always do, telenovelas, grilled cheese, and cuddling in their home. It’s a bit tight, adding Petra and Anezka to the couch, but with the way that Jane practically pulls Petra halfway onto her lap, they’ve just got enough room.

It’s a good thing that they’ve all grown quite comfortable with each other.

Anezka, understanding the least amount of Spanish, frowns throughout most of the evening. But, the grilled cheese is a big hit with her, and she’s happy enough to halfway pay attention, and half play with Mateo on the floor.

By the time that Mateo is put to bed, back in his old crib in Jane’s room, Petra herself is yawning, and the twins have been asleep for the last two hours.

“We didn’t grab their cribs!” Jane says in dismay. “I can’t believe we forgot them.”

Petra lets out her breath slowly. “We’re not sleeping here,” she says, as gently as she can manage.

“What!” Jane yells, quickly clamping her hands over her mouth once she realizes how loud she’s being. Luckily, none of the children stir.

“Jane, it’s insanity to try and cram five of us in here. And… I don’t want to leave Anezka alone just yet, and there is _no_ way we can fit her in here too. Making her sleep on the couch seems cruel when there is an incredibly expensive and comfortable bed for her at The Marbella.”

“But… we’re…” Jane huffs.

“I know,” Petra isn’t all that thrilled about this either. “But, until we find a place… I think the girls and I should stay at The Marbella. At least most of the time.”

Jane crosses her arms with more indignant drama than the situation requires; she truly is a product of Xiomara and Rogelio. “I want it on the record that I hate this and I think it’s stupid.”

“Noted,” Petra leans down and kisses her. Jane pouts through her smile.

…

…

It should also be noted, Petra hates not living with Jane just as much as Jane hates not living with her.

She searches for the perfect house furiously.

…

…

Mateo has a fever.

Jane is panicking more than Petra has ever seen, total loss of control. Petra takes a single moment to suck in a breath, then barks at the nannies to watch the twins, and grabs Mateo from Jane’s trembling hands.

“Come on,” she grabs her purse and keys with her free hand. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“Petra,” Jane’s entire body is shaking, her eyes locked onto Mateo, screaming his head off in Petra’s arms.

“It’s going to be _fine_ Jane,” Petra walks out the door and has Mateo secured into his car seat before Jane can even make it down the front walk. Petra pushes her into the backseat beside Mateo and runs around to the driver’s seat. She rips the car out from the curb and speeds—just enough to get them there as quickly as possible, not enough that she’s losing control. She catches Jane’s eye in the rear view mirror. “Jane,” she bites. Jane looks up at her. “Snap out of it,” she orders. Jane swallows before nodding and turning back to Mateo, starting to hum to him in an attempt to try and keep him calm.

“Yeah,” she whispers. “It’s gonna be okay baby. Petra’s gonna yell at a bunch of very sweet nurses until you’re all better.”

Petra snorts, cutting off another car and ignoring the honking as she pulls off of the highway.

“But don’t worry,” Jane continues, just babbling now so that Mateo can hear her voice at this point. “I’ll make sure that she doesn’t yell at them too much.”

Mateo lets out a little pained whine and Petra’s heart clenches. She hasn’t let herself think too much about Mateo in the last few months, too consumed with the twins, and her mother, and her feelings for Jane. But, she hasn’t thought about him much because he has become such a constant in her life. Jane, _and_ Mateo. They come as a pair, Petra has known this since Mateo was born.

The thought of Mateo _not_ being there…

Petra presses down on the gas pedal harder.

The two of them rush Mateo into the hospital, both of them talking over the nurse until finally a doctor comes and takes Mateo into a room, Jane and Petra right on her heels.

Mateo cries, and the doctor takes his temperature, and Jane crushes Petra’s hand into her own. When the doctor looks up and tells them that she wants to send Mateo up for a few quick tests, just to rule some things out, Jane very nearly breaks down. Petra nods, and Jane signs an agreement form with a shaky hand, and Mateo is admitted to the hospital the night before his first birthday.

By the time that Rafael comes bursting through the hospital doors, Petra has managed to shuffle Jane into a chair and pushed a cup of tea into her hands. She’s a wreck herself, but she’s better at locking it in so no one can tell.

Years of living in an emotionally abusive household will do that to a person. Months of therapy means that she can say that with a straight face and not want to defend her mother, or become nauseous.

But Jane notices, because even terrified for her son, she’s attuned to Petra in a way that no other person has ever been before. She reaches up and tugs Petra down beside her, rubbing her thumb along the backside of Petra’s palm and dropping her head down onto Petra’s shoulder.

“I hate this,” she whispers.

“Me too,” Petra whispers back. Both of them watch Rafael pace back and forth in front of them in the waiting room. Over, and over, and over again.

…

…

It’s hours later, the entire Villanueva clan, plus Rogelio, Luisa, and even Michael have shown up by the time that the doctor comes over to talk to Jane and Rafael.

Rafael leaps up from where Luisa had been sitting beside him, rubbing his back, and runs over towards the doctor. Jane rises slowly, warily, pulling Petra along with her and unwilling to release her hand even for a moment.

“He’s going to be alright,” the doctor says immediately.

Petra lets out a sob of relief. Jane and Rafael both turn towards her, almost in shock. Then, Jane yells happily and wraps her arms around Petra, while Rafael doubles over, clutching at his knees and releasing a huge sigh of relief.

“His fever is going down. I’d like to keep him for the rest of the night, just to monitor him as a precaution. But if all goes well—and I see no reason to indicate otherwise—then you can take him home in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Jane throws her arms around the doctor. “Thank you, thank you so much!”

The woman laughs, patting Jane’s back with all the practice of a pediatric doctor well used to spontaneous hugs from parents. “He’s awake, but I would like to try and get him back to sleep soon.”

“Yes! Yes, definitely,” Jane agrees. “Can we go see him first?”

“Of course.”

Petra pulls out her cell phone, shooting Anezka a quick text to let her know, even though it’s well past midnight. She stayed with the girls, sending Petra random images every half hour of one of them until they fell asleep—trying to make her feel better.

She sends one hundred beaming smiley face emoji, and then a picture of herself, grinning madly in response. Petra laughs and shows Jane.

They all crowd around Mateo, who immediately crawls onto Jane’s lap, still unhappy and a little warm. Jane starts kissing him and doesn’t stop until she’s kissed every part of his face and the entirety of the top of his head at least twice.

From who knows where, Rogelio pulls out a small cupcake with a single candle in it, and Xiomara starts singing _Happy Birthday_ in Spanish. Everyone joins in while Jane cries more tears of joy, helping Mateo blow out his birthday candle. It’s after midnight—he’s one.

He’s one, and he’s alive. A little fussy, but happy to shovel cake and frosting into his mouth while he cuddles into his mother’s chest sleepily.

Petra reaches out a few moments later and brushes some frosting off of his face. He looks up at her and smiles, offering her a bite. Laughing, Petra finds herself bending down and accepting the smeary morsel from his little fist. Her heart clenches as he giggles at her. She can’t remember being this frightened in a long time. It’s terrifying, the scope of her love for this little boy. It’s even more terrifying because until this evening, she really had no idea how much of it was inside of her.

Jane catches her eye, and Petra knows that she is fully aware of Petra’s realization. She leans in and kisses Petra’s cheek, keeping their temples pressed against one another’s while their family whispers softly around them.

“You were amazing today,” she whispers.

“I was bitchy.”

Jane laughs. “Yeah, well, I needed someone to snap me out of the panic. So, the bitchy thing was good.”

Petra rolls her eyes and watches Mateo’s eyelids droop, his sticky fingers grabbing at Jane’s hair. She ignores them, content to let him do whatever he wants right now. Petra, as much as she loves Mateo, would definitely pull those hands out of her hair. Fever or not.

“I love you,” Jane whispers. “Have I mentioned that yet today?”

“Well, it’s 1:16am. So, no, this is technically the first time today.”

Jane lifts her head up and looks Petra square in the eyes. “I love you,” she repeats, before rising and settling Mateo down into the hospital provided crib. Petra watches her silently. “Yeah,” she whispers mostly to herself. “I love you too.”

She is finding a house and buying it tomorrow, fuck waiting for the perfect thing to drop into her lap. She wants her family under one roof.


	17. wedding sequence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is largely non-linear, and spans a few months. 
> 
> one more epilogue to come folks, and then that will be a wrap!

Petra might vomit all over this _incredibly_ expensive and frivolous dress.

It’s insane, what they’re doing. They’re _already_ married. Legally anyway. This is… _insane._ Petra groans and leans down, bunching up the ends of her dress and placing her head between her knees. The urge to vomit remains.

“Oh, wow,” Luisa breathes as she comes up behind Petra. She hesitates in the doorway, two bouquets of flowers in her hands. One for Petra, the other, her own. “You can’t puke on that dress,” she warns, setting both bouquets down and bending in front of Petra. She gently lifts Petra’s head up. “You look amazing in it, and puke would really ruin the whole aesthetic.”

“I hate you a lot,” Petra groans. “And also, I think that I might need you to be my getaway car. I’m panicking, and I can’t do this.”

Luisa’s face twists into a wry grin. “Can’t do what? Fake marry your wife again? Symbolically this time, instead of legally?” she laughs. “What’s so hard about that?”

“It was simple last time,” Petra whines. “And I was mostly in shock. I just had to sign some papers and put on a cheap mood ring. This is…” Petra swallows thickly and drops her head back down, her voice coming out a bit muffled from the dress. “This is _vows,_ and everyone I care about watching me. And… this makes it _real_ ,” Petra’s voice drops, barely a whisper. “It makes our marriage real.”

“Hon,” Luisa’s hands are on Petra’s knees, her chin dropping down to the back of Petra’s bent head. “It’s already real. It’s been real for two years. All this does is give everybody pictures of you looking _finnnee_ in this dress,” Luisa taps a beat against Petra’s knees, then jumps up.

“You know what I mean,” Petra says, finally sitting up and leaning back in the chair. She huffs out a breath, trying to move bits of her hair out of her face. “I messed up my hair,” she whines.

“Yeah,” Luisa frowns at her from behind, tilting her head in the mirror and fluffing it a bit.

“That made it worse!”

Luisa winces. “Hang on, I’ll go find Lina.”

“No, wait,” Petra grabs Luisa’s arm. “Don’t leave me in here by myself again. If you do, I’ll panic so much that I’ll probably jump out the window and make a break for it. Like that movie with Julia Roberts.”

Luisa seems to contemplate this, and must decide that Petra is serious enough, because she opens the door and screams, “ANEZKA, COME HOLD YOUR SISTER DOWN FOR ME A SEC!”

Anezka slips into the room seconds later, a frowning Michael directly behind her. “What is going on?” he asks.

“Don’t let her climb out the window,” Luisa orders them both. “I’m getting Lina to help fix her hair.”

Anezka walks over and sits down on top of the vanity. “Why would you be climbing out the window?” she asks, no judgement.

“Cause she’s a crazypants,” Michael says, tugging at his crooked tie and not looking at either of them. Anezka throws a tube of mascara at his head. “Hey!” Michael yelps. “I wasn’t _judging._ Being a crazypants is fine! It’s half of why I like her! I’m just saying.”

Anezka throws lip liner at his head. “Go away now,” she says politely. Michael tugs at his tie one more time, then throws his hands up in frustration, and leaves them to it. Anezka turns back to Petra. “If you want to escape through the window, I can help,” she promises. “But it will make Jane very sad.”

“I know,” Petra mumbles. “I don’t really want to. I just want this to be over. I think maybe I don’t like being the center of attention after all.”

Anezka swings her feet back and forth. She looks very pretty in her bridesmaid dress. No longer the scrawny, malnourished looking waif that she had been when she’d shown up almost a year ago. Now, her dark hair shines, there’s color to her cheeks, and her smiles come easy, instead of shyly. One of her feet taps against Petra’s; yet another change from the last few months, physical affection between the twins comes easily and is welcome. Petra feels herself relax a little, the rhythmic and light tapping against her foot continues.

“I think you love it,” Anezka says. “You just don’t want anything to go wrong. You’re putting too much pressure on today. You and Jane are already married. She loves you, and you love her, and you have children. Nothing is going to go so wrong that could change any of that.”

“But what if—”

“I have never seen two people in love like you and Jane,” Anezka admits. “I didn’t think it was possible.” She shrugs, and something inside Petra’s chest clenches. “Now, I know. Now, I get to be a part of this family. Today is just going to be fun. But, later, if you still want to climb out of the window, I’ll grab the twins and help hold up your dress.”

Petra laughs and reaches out her hand, taking one of Anezka’s and marveling once again at how similar it is tucked into her own. “I love you,” she says softly. Because though they have gotten very close over the last year, it’s still strange to say those words. To anyone apart from Jane, there’s the smallest moment of hesitation each time. Even when she means them. Especially then.

Anezka lights up, as she has does each time Petra says this to her. Grinning madly, she swings her feet with more force and squeezes Petra’s hand. “I love you too,” she says. “I’m very glad that I have a sister.”

“Me too,” Petra grins back up at her. “Thanks for being co-maid of honor with Luisa.

“It’s fun,” Anezka shrugs. “Luisa knows more of the rules than I do. And I don’t like doing things by myself all the time anyway.”

“Well, I’m glad.”

Luisa and Lina come bursting back into the room, and Lina declares loudly that she is working with a disaster and that everyone needs to clear out. Anezka shrugs and jumps down off of the vanity. Luisa levels Lina with a frown, but follows behind after a moment anyway. Lina catches Petra’s eye in the mirror.

“It’s not that much of a disaster,” she admits. “I wanted to talk to you alone.” She walks over and immediately her fingers are running through Petra’s hair, tugging this piece and that up and pulling bobby pins seemingly out of nowhere.

“Oh,” Petra tries not to wince as Lina tugs a bit too hard. “Why?”

“Sorry,” Lina tugs again. “Well, because Jane has been my best friend since third grade, and if I didn’t give you the, _‘if you ever break her heart, I’ll have to break your legs’_ speech, then I’d never be able to live with myself.”

“Lina…”

“But I’ve also _kind of_ become like, not _friends,_ but _something_ with you over the last,” she waves one hand around in the air, “whatever how long you two have been together now. So, it feels like I don’t really need to tell you the speech, but like, I’m doing it anyway. Just in case.”

“Um, was that it?”

“No,” Lina grabs hold of a large piece of Petra’s hair and tugs, just enough to make Petra hiss. Lina holds it, not exactly pulling, but close enough to sting just the tiniest amount as she bends down and whispers in Petra’s ear. “If you ever break her heart, I’ll have to kill you.”

“If I ever break her heart, I’ll probably want you to kill me.”

“It’s a deal then,” Lina holds out her hand for Petra to shake.

“I suppose it is,” she shakes, very aware of the other hand Lina has wrapped around her hair in a death grip. She smiles shakily and Lina laughs. Petra rolls her eyes and Lina laughs harder.

Lina loosens her grip, gently tugging the rest into place before smiling at the final product in the mirror. “You look hot,” she grins. “Jane’s gonna lose her mind.” Petra laughs, and before she can say anything else, Lina bends down and places a tiny peck on her cheek. “See you out there,” she calls and flounces out of the door.

Petra looks at herself in the mirror, she looks much calmer than she did a few minutes ago.

…

…

They find the perfect house.

Red front door, white picket fences, a huge backyard with a pool; the goddamn American dream. Their master bedroom is _stunning_ and huge, and there are enough rooms that each child can have their own, and there’s still room leftover for three guest rooms and a study if they wanted.

Petra calls and puts down a deposit before the tears even fall all the way down Jane’s cheeks.

They waver, for less than five minutes while Jane worries that it’s too expensive. Too much. Two and a half times the size of her childhood home. Petra understands, she’s never owned this much space in all her life either, but it feels right from the moment that they walk inside. It feels like theirs.

And Jane knows it.

She squeals with happiness, then immediately whips out her phone and starts making a list of potential monthly payments. Going on and on about her waitressing paychecks added with being a TA, minus her grad school fees, and Petra rolls her eyes. She writes out a check that has Jane emitting a pained sound and passes it over to the real estate agent.

“We’ll take it,” she says, wrapping an arm around Jane’s shoulders and covering her mouth before she can protest Petra using that much of her own money before they can get a plan in place that divides the money between them equally.

“Petra,” Jane hisses, once the real estate agent has stepped outside to make a few calls and Jane has dislodged Petra’s hand from her mouth. “It can’t just be your money. We have to talk about—”

“It’s not just my money. It’s _our_ money. I’m just not afraid to spend some of it.”

“That’s rude.”

Petra grins. “It’s more accurate.”

Jane smacks her on the arm. “Be serious!”

“I _am!_ ”

Jane huffs, crossing her arms and trying to glare. It doesn’t last long; she catches sight of the living room again. “God,” she moans, “it _is_ perfect isn’t it?”

“It is,” Petra agrees.

Jane slips her arms around Petra’s middle and rests her head against Petra’s shoulder. “I can’t believe we’re buying a house.”

“I can’t believe that we found one that we both like equally, that’s only twenty minutes from your old house.”

“I know,” Jane whispers. “But… that makes it forty minutes from The Marbella and Rafael.”

“I know,” Petra sighs. Rafael isn’t going to like it. Petra’s not entirely fond of the idea of a forty minute commute herself, but there are far worse things in the world, and this house feels like home.

That’s never happened before. She’s unwilling to give it up or walk away from it. Rafael will have to understand.

“I can’t believe this is our house,” Jane whispers, squeezing Petra tighter.

“Me either,” Petra stands there, in what will soon be their kitchen, holding onto Jane, unable make the grin leave her face. “Me either.”

…

…

Alba slips into the room and Petra’s momentary calm demeanor disappears.

“Are you ready?” she asks, in English.

“Estoy tratando de ser,” Petra answers back. Alba smiles and comes up behind her, gently placing her hands on Petra’s shoulders, careful not to mess up her hair. “Have you seen Jane?”

“Si,” Alba smooths out the lace draping down Petra’s shoulders. “She looks beautiful,” she says, in Spanish. “I had to redo my makeup.”

Petra laughs along with Alba, and the small motions she’s making on Petra’s shoulders start calming her down. Not all the way.

“I’m nervous,” Petra admits.

“Ah,” Alba’s hands slip gently around Petra’s neck, hugging her loosely from behind. “Es normal estar nervioso. Hoy es un gran día.”

“What if…” Petra trails off, looking down at her lap.

Alba tucks her chin up so that Petra catches her eye in the mirror, her arms still slung loosely around her. She smiles, warm and fond. “I have never seen Jane so happy in all my life,” she says, in English. “I’ll admit, you are not who I pictured for her. But, seeing the way that she lights up when you are in the room,” Alba chokes up a little, causing Petra to suck back tears of her own. “It is all I ever wanted for her. You love her the way she deserves to be loved,” Alba bends down, her arms tightening around Petra and her cheek pressing against Petra’s own. “She loves you the way that you deserve to be loved as well,” she whispers. “You’re already a part of this family. Today, we just get to celebrate it together.”

Petra swallows and forces herself to keep Alba’s gaze. “Gracias,” she whispers. “I—I just don’t want to mess up. Or—”

“Usted no lo hará. Hemos practicado. Una y otra vez. Va a ser maravilloso.”

Alba squeezes her gently once more, then releases her, heading back towards the door. Petra grabs a tissue and gently pats at her eyes. “Alba,” she calls, before she gets through the door completely. “Te amo,” she whispers.

Alba smiles. “You can call me Abuela, if you like.”

…

…

Rafael is furious. He yells and slams things down onto his desk, and makes Jane feel horrible and guilty. Petra watches her slink into herself and begin to decide to tell the real estate agent never mind.

Petra shoves him, putting all of her frustration behind it, and he trips backwards into his chair—stunned.

“Are you kidding me?” she yells. “No one is taking your children away from you.”

“Petra,” Jane grabs her arm. Unnecessarily, she isn’t going to shove him again.

“I’m—”

“After everything you’ve put her through,” Petra motions towards Jane. “Everything you’ve put me through,” his eyes go hard, just for a moment. “At the very least you owe her. Get over yourself Rafael. I still work here. The two of us are still partners and I’m going to be driving here at the very least four times a week,” her voice softens. “No one is taking them away from you. No one wants that.”

Rafael runs his palm through his hair, still shaking a little with anger, but Petra watches it deflate slowly. He lets out a breath, then catches her eye and nods.

“I’m sorry,” he directs towards both of them. “I just…” he sighs. “I want to be in their lives. I don’t want to miss anything.”

“We don’t want you to either,” Jane reaches over the table and grabs his hand. She squeezes it and gives him a small smile.

“Okay,” he says quietly, locking eyes with Petra one more time. She nods at him this time. “Okay,” he repeats.

…

…

Xiomara grabs Petra as she’s walking towards the back of the church. She’s barely been out of her dressing room a full minute, and Jane’s mother yanks her arm, shoving her into a small bathroom.

“Okay,” Xiomara says, not looking Petra in the eye. “Okay, so… you and I are… well I used to hate you, and you used to hate me,” Xo shrugs, like she’s simply telling Petra what groceries they are out of.

“Um…”

Xiomara cuts her off. “Unbelievably, you gained my trust. And I still don’t know quite how that happened, but it probably has a lot to do with Jane trusting you so much, and you not like… pushing my mother down the stairs again.”

“I didn’t—”

“I know, I know,” Xiomara waves her off. “But you get what I mean though right?”

“No actually,” Petra crosses her arms over her dress and straightens her spine. “Are you seriously telling me _now_ that you don’t want this wedding to happen?”

“No!” Xiomara yells, looking genuinely affronted. Petra relaxes a little. “God you idiot, I’m telling you that I love you, and that I’m glad that you’re my daughter in law,” she shakes her head in exasperation and then jumps forward, wrapping Petra up in a quick hug. “Don’t trip on your dress,” she adds, quieter. “I will definitely laugh at you, and I won’t feel bad about it.”

…

…

They move their things in on a Thursday.

Jane has Ellie in a sling across her chest, unpacking boxes like a champ while she occasionally tosses toys to Mateo, who’s set up in the middle of the empty living room. Petra holds Anna and sits on a stool up at the kitchen counter, directing Rafael, Michael and Rogelio around like a queen on her throne. Occasionally, Rafael will glare at her, and Petra simply smiles and tells Anna to smile at her Daddy. Rafael melts each time. That’s going to be very useful.

It takes an entire day to get nearly all of their things at the very least, halfway set up. Everyone comes to help, even Lina and Susanna. Michael’s girlfriend, Nicole, is sweet and quiet and looks at both Jane and Petra with something like fear. Petra does her best to encourage this, while Jane tries to make her feel so welcome that it backfires; Nicole claims having to be at work by noon and disappears.

“You did that on purpose,” Michael pouts, lifting a box full of Petra’s clothes into her bedroom.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Petra says primly, opening the box and beginning to hang her things up.

“I’m gonna teach the twins secret swear words once they start talking,” he threatens.

“ _Secret_ swear words?” Petra scoffs. “Lovely, I can’t wait.”

“Jane!” Michael yells out into the hallway. “Petra’s being mean and I’m not helping her anymore. What do you want me to do next?”

Jane’s head appears under the stairwell landing. “Petra!” she chastises. “We’re not paying people to help us move, so be nice or you’re going to have to lift all the boxes yourself while Mateo, the twins and I watch—eating popcorn!”

Petra gapes down at her. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“Would I?” Jane grins, kissing Ellie’s chubby little cheek. “What do you think Ellie? Should we make her carry in all her ridiculous, heavy shoe boxes?” she coos.

“Turning the children against me,” Petra says dryly. “And people think that you’re the sweet one.”

Jane laughs, loud enough to wake Ellie all the way up. Which means that Anna is awake too. They never do anything separately, at least when it comes to moods and being hungry. Petra rolls her eyes and walks downstairs, finding Anna in Rafael’s arms. Mateo is sitting on top of the kitchen counter, shaking one of his toys in her face while she wails.

“Rafael!” Petra yells, running over and picking up Mateo. “He could have fallen off!”

“What?” he looks over at his son in Petra’s arms, undisturbed by being lifted up, and still determined to shake a toy at his sister until she’s quiet. He leans out, causing Petra to adjust her grip on him. “He was fine,” Rafael shrugs. “I had one hand ready to grab him.”

“Give me my baby,” Petra demands.

“She is also _my_ baby. So is that one, and the one that Jane’s got, for the record,” Rafael says teasingly.

“Can you feed any of them with your body?” Petra asks, one eyebrow raised in a challenge.

Rafael sighs and holds Anna out. “Switch,” he takes Mateo and Petra hugs a fussy Anna to her chest.

She’s gotten over all of the awkwardness and uncomfortable bits about nursing. She has no qualms about tugging her shirt up and letting Anna go to town. And no one else in the room blinks, or jumps in with a bottle when there is no more milk, and Anna is clearly still hungry. Petra straightens her shirt and pulls a bottle from the refrigerator. They’d thought ahead and prepared them, and the kitchen first. Petra goes back to her stool and gives Anna the bottle, watching as everyone continues to unpack until they break for lunch and order pizza.

“This is your new home,” she whispers quietly to her daughter. “You get to live here for the rest of your life if you want to.” Anna shifts sleepily, one tiny fist grabbing a hold of Petra’s shirt and clinging tightly. She does that. Grabs hold of things in her sleep. Petra’s shirt. Jane’s. Ellie’s blanket. Mateo’s hair. Rafael’s belt. Anything within the vicinity that she can get her hands on. Something to ground her.

Petra brushes some of the tiny blonde hairs out of her face and smiles down at her. Usually, Anna is fussy and squirms around for everyone but Jane. Petra has only successfully managed to get her to sleep herself a handful of times in the last four months. It’s possible, that they’re too much alike. Petra doesn’t blame her, in Anna’s position, she would prefer Jane over herself as well.

She looks up at catches Jane’s eye across the room. Jane smiles brightly at her, then mouths, _hi._ Petra chuckles a little and mouths _hi_ back.

Jane moves across the room, Ellie no longer in the sling, either passed along to someone else, or settled down for a nap. Jane’s arms slide across Petra’s shoulders, and she bends down, pressing a light kiss to Anna’s cheek.

“I can’t believe this is our house,” she whispers, still in awe.

“Me neither,” Petra admits.

“I should warn you, there is a chance that I’m going to cry tonight after my mom and Abuela leave.”

Petra laughs, shaking Anna a little too much for her comfort; she frowns in her sleep. “That’s not surprising information to get, to be honest.”

“Don’t be mean. Remember, I’ll wake them all up and give them popcorn as their first solid food and you’ll have to carry everything.”

Petra tires to bite back her grin and fails. Especially underneath Jane’s hundred-watt smile. “Welcome home Petra Villanueva,” Jane whispers, bending over and placing a kiss on Petra’s lips.

…

…

Jane is walking down the aisle first. Petra hears the music and sees Rogelio hold his arm out with a dramatic flair and tries to calm her racing heart. A hand gently sets against her waist and she jumps.

“Hey,” Rafael whispers, giving her a smile.

“Hi,” she whispers back.

“You ready for this?” he asks. It’s a loaded question, especially coming from him.

When Petra asked him if he’d walk her down the aisle three months ago, he’d frozen. “Really?” he asked. “Me?”

Petra had shrugged. “You’re… the most important man in my life,” she admitted. “You’ve known me the longest and the best. You’re the father of my children,” she caught his surprised eye. “And you’re my friend,” she added.

Rafael smiled at her. She watched him run a hand through his hair, as he always did when nervous or unsure of something. Then, he looked back up at her and his eyes were smiling too.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay. I’d love to.”

It’s been well over a year since Petra and Jane told Rafael that they were together. For real. He’s been dating a woman that neither Petra nor Jane is overly fond of for the last two months. It’s not going to last; Petra can see it in his face. He’s just enjoying himself for the time being. Something that Petra isn’t going to begrudge him for. Not after everything she’s put him through. Not with how quickly he managed to get over Jane once she and Petra became official. Not with how great a father he is. He deserves to have fun and be happy just as much as Petra does.

(So long as this relationship doesn’t last. The girl thinks that Donald Trump _‘wouldn’t be so bad as a President.’_ Petra finally had to pull Jane away from her after she spent over half an hour explaining all of the details, and policies, and just _plain common fucking sense_ as to why she was _wrong_.)

“I think so,” Petra answers him. He holds his arm out, and she takes it. Straightening her dress once more, and fixing some of the flowers in her bouquet. She smiles down at it. Jane must have told someone to add in a few sunflowers for her.

“The last time that we did this, I had to stand up there and wait for you, sweating like a thirteen year old at his first dance.”

Petra laughs. “Jane’s sweat doesn’t make her smell bad.”

“Of _course_ it doesn’t,” Rafael rolls his eyes. “Because Jane is basically sunshine incarnate.”

“Yeah,” Petra grins at him. “She is.”

“God, you’re nauseating now, you know that right?” he teases.

“I know,” Petra’s smile won’t leave her face. Leave it to Rafael, to finally be the person to calm her all the way down. “It’s kind of great,” she admits.

His smile turns fond, and he pulls her a little closer as the music changes—their cue. “It is,” he agrees. “Happy looks really good on you.”

The music swells up again, and Petra steps forward, Rafael by her side, all nerves disappearing.

…

…

“It should be about Abuela,” Jane gasps.

“Hum?” Petra looks up from typing up an email.

“My thesis!” Jane is vibrating with excitement, kneeling up on the bed. “It, my advisor _hates_ everything that I’ve tried so far, and nothing has really felt like it clicked for me either.”

“I liked the thing you made me read last week,” Petra says, looking back down and hitting send before giving Jane her full attention.

Jane jumps up even more, standing on the bed in front of Petra. “This is way better. A historical romance, based on Abuela and Abuelo’s life! I can start with her as a young girl in Venezuela, then meeting my Abuelo, coming to America, having Ma, everything!” she’s bursting with excitement. Petra hasn’t seen her this happy about her writing in a very long time. She beams up at her.

“I think that sounds like a book I would read.”

Jane’s grin grows even wider. “Really?” she asks. Petra nods, and then Jane emits a squeal and drops back down onto the bed.

Onto Petra.

Jane’s brown eyes meet her own, and then her tongue slides over Petra’s lips. She lets them fall open, snakes Jane close and kisses her deeply. Petra doesn’t think that she’ll ever get enough of this; Jane touches her like she’s addicted, holds her like she’s precious, and kisses her like she’s sexy. She always runs her hands over Petra slowly, almost reverently. Fingers tangling in her shirts, her hair, as close as she can possibly get.

Jane’s laying half on top of her now, her hips pressing down into Petra’s, and she hears herself whine into Jane’s mouth, Jane laughing back into her own. She pulls back, just a touch, but enough to make Petra whine again for a different reason. Jane is still laughing as she pulls off her shirt. She wastes no time in reaching down and tugging Petra’s off as well, and then she’s back down on top of Petra, their hot skin pressing against each other.

Jane starts moving even slower. Hands, brushing up her side, and then back down, grazing the bottom of her shirt, teasing the skin, and then sliding away. She kisses her again, hard, and deep, and wet, and so perfect that Petra mews into it. Grinds into her on instinct, and feels a blush racing from her chest up her neck and into her face. She feels like she is on fire, and it’s agonizing how slowly Jane is peeling off her shorts.

“Jane,” Petra groans.

Jane just laughs, and tugs even slower. Of course, once Petra’s pants are off, Jane wastes absolutely no time in yanking off her own and climbing back up the bed.

Petra’s hands go everywhere. Ever since the first time they’ve done this, almost two months ago now, Petra can’t stop touching Jane. Can’t stop reveling in the way that Jane’s breath hitches when Petra rubs her thumb gently over Jane’s left nipple, while at the same time caressing her lower back. Or the way that Jane looks at her, eyes lidded, whispering Petra’s name over and over again as she kisses her way up Jane’s legs, then teases her forever until she finally places her mouth where Jane wants it. Or the look on her face while she comes, clawing at Petra like she never wants to let her go, holding her for hours and hours, contently, before they go at it again.

(And again, and again, and again.)

(It was much less of a big deal than Petra had anticipated it being. One night, instead of backing off, Jane peeled off Petra’s clothes. Petra had looked up at her, the question in her eyes, and Jane had grinned at her wickedly. “We’re legally married,” she said, kissing her way up Petra’s stomach. “I kept my promise to Abuela. And it’s been way longer than six weeks since the twins were born. We’re both in the clear.”)

Now, Jane’s mouth is on Petra’s right breast, doing sinful things while her fingers inch south, finding the perfect spot. She falls into a rhythm, and Petra is helpless underneath her. Jane’s hot skin pressing against her own, her fingers and mouth everywhere she wants them, she might never, ever get used to this feeling.

She comes on Jane’s fingers. Stretching around them, feeling Jane in her, feeling Jane around her. Petra shakes as she comes, hearing herself whisper Jane’s name over and over again softly, almost like a prayer. Jane pulls back, just enough that she can watch, their foreheads pressed against each other’s. She watches Petra come undone, staring at her like she is something godly.

When she’s calmed down enough, Petra moves to flip them, but Jane just pulls the covers over them both.

“What about you?” she asks.

Jane kisses the side of her lips, tired and sleepy. “That was for me,” she laughs, tucking herself further into Petra’s side.

“But, I want to—”

“In the morning,” Jane promises, one arm slung over Petra’s middle, the other tucked in between them.

Petra rolls over and turns off the lamp, pulling Jane’s warm body closer as she snuggles back into the bed. “I love you,” she whispers a moment later.

Jane presses a sleepy kiss to her neck, never opening her eyes. “I love you too.”

…

…

Jane looks stunning.

And she’s already crying.

Petra barely sees anything other than Jane in front of her. Her eyes only just catching the motions of two year old Mateo, waving and yelling out her name from Xiomara’s arms. His sisters join in, Anezka and Alba trying, and failing to hush the one year olds. _God_ they all look adorable. Her children are perfect.

Her wife, even more so.

Rafael gives her a kiss on the cheek, laughing as he hears Mateo yell _hi daddy_ enthusiastically. Petra can hear Jane trying to conceal her own amusement, and parent him before the priest notices.

“You knock my socks off Petra,” Rafael whispers, then slips down the aisle and takes Mateo from Xiomara.

Then it’s just her, and Jane.

And everyone they love.

Jane reaches out and grabs Petra’s hand, waterworks contained for the time being. And then, the priest is talking, and Petra isn’t listening to a single goddamn word. This entire thing is for Jane. Jane, and Alba. Petra had just said ‘ _yes’, ‘sure’,_ and ‘ _that sounds great’,_ to every request, and now here she is, in front of a hoard of people, in a dress that makes her feel a little bit like a queen, symbolically remarrying the woman that she loves.

She should probably be paying attention.

“Petra,” Jane whispers, tugging at her hands. “Your turn.”

The vows. Jane has said hers already. Damnit, Petra was just looking at her face.

She sucks in a breath, and turns to catch Alba’s eye. Alba nods at her, Ellie in her arms, waving up at Petra. They’ve practiced this, it’s going to be fine.

“Yo, Petra,” she begins, and Jane starts to cry, grinning madly once she realizes what is happening. “Toma a Jane a ser mi esposa.” She’s gotten much better at Spanish in the last two years, but this is so important, that it still comes out a little slow and stilted. Each word carefully spoken. Jane doesn’t seem to mind one bit. “Para tener y mantener desde hoy en adelante, para bien o para mal, en la riqueza y en la pobreza, en la salud y en la enfermedad, en las buenas y en las malas, siempre y cuando la muerte nos separe.”

Jane kisses her. Before the priest says that she can, and the entire room bursts out laughing and clapping.

“I’m sorry!” Jane jumps back, turning to the priest. “I’m so sorry.”

The priest smiles. “You may go ahead and kiss the bride again if you’d like Mrs. Villanueva. It’s time.”

Jane grins, and Peta returns it, and then they’re kissing, and it’s over.

They’re married, again.

This time, there are real gold rings on each of their fingers, their mood rings, now on chains around each of their necks. And all three of their children are cheering happily from the pews. Alive, and well, and together.

And now, they get to have a party.

…

…

“Jane?” Petra calls as she walks through the front door. “Are you home?”

“In here!” she yells from somewhere upstairs.

Petra follows the sound of splashing and giggling and determines that they are in the bathroom. She walks into the children’s upstairs bathroom and is met with a face full of water, curtesy of Mateo.

“Mateo!” Jane chides. “Don’t throw water!”

Ellie mimics him, splashing Jane.

“Ellie,” Petra says, “no.” She moves over and sits down on top of the toilet. Jane is hunched over the large tub, trying to get Ellie to sit still for long enough to wash her. Seven months old, and she’s a little devil. Mateo splashes Anna. He is a few weeks away from the dreaded terrible twos, and getting a good head start. An overachiever, just like his mother.

“He’s done,” Jane says through gritted teeth.

Petra grabs a towel and wraps it around him, lifting him out of the tub before he can even blink. “No,” he whines. “Mom, no.”

“Yes,” Petra says simply, and sets him down, drying off his hair. She takes one second to turn and reach for a t-shirt, and the naked little beast is off like a rocket, running down the hall, yelling gleefully at his escape. “Mateo!” Petra yelps, about to dash after him.

Jane beats her to it. “You got them, I got him!” she yells. “I’m already a mess and ready to tackle him anyway.”

Mateo screams with delight from somewhere. Their bedroom probably. Petra sighs and turns back to the girls, still in the tub. “If either of you even _think_ about trying to escape like your brother, you’ll be very sorry.”

Ellie grins mischievously, and Petra glares at her. “You’re not fast enough yet,” she says. “You can barely walk.” Ellie pouts.

“Teo,” she slaps at the water.

“Mateo is in trouble. Do _you_ want to be in trouble?”

Ellie actually thinks about it. Petra watches, suppressing a smirk as her daughter tilts her head up towards the ceiling, then turns and looks at her sister for help. Anna turns to Petra, crawling forward and holding her arms out. Ellie hesitates, then joins her sister.

“Good choices girls, I’m proud of you,” Petra holds out two towels and wraps them both up. They’re just almost too big to carry around one in each hand comfortably, but she can make it to their bedroom.

Just as she sets them both down on the floor, Jane appears in the doorway, the front of her shirt soaking wet.

“Mama!” Ellie yells, rolling on top of her sister. Anna frowns at the intrusion, but doesn’t shove her away. She never does.

Jane smiles down at them both, full of warmth that no matter how hard she tries, how much she _feels_ it, Petra can’t seem to manage to convey that easily. “Hello loves,” she coos. Then, to Petra, “I got him in pjs, but he wants you to read his story. Switch?”

“Sure,” Petra rises and walks down the hall to Mateo’s room. He’s not in the bed anymore. “Mateo?” she calls out.

“Boo!” he screams, jumping out from behind the closet. His new favorite trick. “Did I scare you?”

“No,” Petra is always honest with him. “But it was very cute.”

“Not cute!” he stamps his foot. “Scary!”

Petra shrugs. “Come on, Jane said that you wanted me to read you a story. Which one?”

Mateo grabs a picture book from the shelf and runs over to leap onto the bed. Petra settles in beside him, reveling in the way that he immediately situates himself on top of her lap. “This one Mom,” he says, smacking at the cover.

“Again? We’ve read this one four times this week.”

“This one,” Mateo insists.

“Alright,” Petra sighs. “But your taste leaves something to be desired.”

By the second to last page, he is sound asleep, leaning back into her chest. Petra closes the book and lifts him off and pulls the covers up, placing a light kiss on his forehead and turning out the light before going back down the hall.

The girls are still awake. Ellie refuses to let Jane put her down, and Anna is being fussy. Petra moves to take Ellie, because Jane is usually the only one who Anna will calm down for, but Anna reaches for her first. Frustrated tears in her eyes, she lobs herself towards Petra. “Mom,” she cries. A little surprised, Petra pulls her close and rocks her over towards the other side of the room. It’s always a bit easier to separate the girls to get them to sleep.

“And just what,” she whispers, “is your problem?”

Anna knocks her head against Petra’s shoulder, miserably.

“One of those nights then? Fantastic.”

Jane gets Ellie to sleep and walks over softly. “Want me to put her down in our room so Anna doesn’t keep her awake?” she whispers. Anna reacts to Jane’s voice, lifting her head up off of Petra’s shoulder and looking over at her. Petra never imagined that she would see an indignant glare coming from a seven month old, but, if anyone could manage it, of course it would be one of her spawn. Jane swallows a laugh.

“No, I think she’ll be quiet enough,” Petra says. “If not, I’ll walk her downstairs.”

“Okay,” Jane reaches out and brushes some of Petra’s hair out of her eyes. Anna’s glare deepens, and she grabs at the hair Jane was touching. As if to say _no, mine._ Petra’s amused and a little curious as to Anna’s reaction. Usually, it’s the opposite; Anna adores and prefers Jane with a fervor that no one can breach. Jane takes the change in stride. “Night baby girl,” she whispers, and kisses them both before heading out of the nursery, leaving Petra alone with their fussy daughter.

“So, how long is this going to go on for?” Petra asks Anna. “Are you hungry? Tired? Mad? What?”

Anna slumps her head down against Petra’s shoulder again. “Mom,” she mumbles. One of the few words that she’s managed to get down so far. “Mom.”

“Yes?” Petra prompts.

Anna lifts her head up and with a jolt, knocks her forehead against Petra’s temple. Then, she whines. Full of frustration. Just in case, Petra feels her forehead. She’s not warm. She doesn’t look sick, just upset. Fussy. Annoyed and unable to yet communicate exactly why. She doesn’t have the words yet, just tears and her body.

“Mom,” she says again, wrapping her little arms around Petra’s neck tightly.

“I’m here,” Petra tells her. “I’m right here.”

Anna looks up once more, staring into Petra’s eyes, searching for something. It’s astounding, how much personality she’s already got inside of her. How distinct she is from Ellie. From Mateo. From Petra. She’s only been here for seven months, and yet, she’s almost a whole person already. Petra is floored by it.

Whatever Anna is fussy about, whatever she’s looking for, she must find it, because she drops her head down against Petra’s shoulder once more, and settles herself down. Petra rubs her back, small gentle motions that she has seen Jane do hundreds of times in the last year and a half. Ones that have become natural to her, instead of something that she mimics from seeing what Jane does.

Anna’s breathing grows slower, her eyes droop close, and, as always, she grips at Petra’s shirt tightly. Petra rocks her, slowly, relaxed, and before she knows it, Anna is sound asleep.

So is Petra.

She wakes, to Jane gently lifting Anna out of her arms and jolts. “Shush,” Jane whispers. “I’m just putting her down.”

Petra rubs at her eyes and looks over at the clock on the wall: 11:45pm.

“You never came to bed,” Jane whispers, coming back over after settling Anna down in her crib.

“I fell asleep.”

Jane grins. “Clearly,” she holds out her hand and Petra takes it, allowing herself to be pulled up out of the rocking chair. Jane wraps an arm around her waist, and the two of them walk down the hall to their room. “So,” Jane begins, “what was Anna’s deal tonight?”

“I don’t know, she’s seven months old,” Petra pulls her shirt off over her head. Her bra with it seconds later. Jane appraises her with a sly grin and Petra rolls her eyes, pulling on a nightgown before climbing into their bed. “Her words are limited to Mom, Mama, El, Da, Teo, Buey, and her favorite: no.”

“She can also say _mine,_ don’t forget that one,” Jane jokes, crawling in after Petra.

“Yes, of course. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“They’re mini geniuses, I can feel it,” Jane curls into Petra and laughs. “All three of our kids are gonna go to Harvard. Or Yale. Something pretentious and fancy.”

Petra rolls her eyes again and shuts off the light, yawning.

“I did have a thing I wanted to talk to you about that though,” Jane whispers a few moments later.

“Hum?” Petra doesn’t open her eyes. “About Harvard?”

“No, about our kids.”

“What about them?”

“Well…” Jane sounds nervous.

Petra opens her eyes and looks at her. “What?”

Jane sits up and leans back against the headboard, her Serious Discussion face on. Petra is not about to get back to sleep any time soon.

“Legally, Mateo is mine and Rafael’s, and the girls are yours and Rafael’s. Which, is _fine._ We’re all in a great place, and even if we weren’t, I can’t see Rafael ever denying any of them to either of us, should anything happen.”

“What? Jane, I—”

“No, wait, just let me… I’m explaining I promise,” Jane flips some hair out of her face. She smiles, almost unconsciously. “All of them have the last name Villanueva—which, I’m still ridiculously happy about—but,” Jane sighs. “I look at the girls and I see my children. And, I know that you feel the same way about Mateo. And if we’re legally married, and also, getting married again in a few months,” she grins here, unable to contain her excitement. It’s infectious, Petra can feel a grin slipping onto her own face. “Then, I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t make it official all the way.”

“So,” Petra shifts once more, turning so that she’s fully facing Jane. “Let me just—you’re saying that you want to adopt the twins, and you want me to adopt Mateo, right?”

“Yes,” Jane nods vigorously. “If… that’s something that you want?”

Petra leans in and kisses her, smiling as she pulls away. “That sounds good to me,” she hums and settles back down to go to sleep.

“That’s it?” Jane yelps. “You don’t want… you’re just going back to bed now?”

“Yes,” Petra closes her eyes. “We talked about it, we agreed on it, we can talk more about it in the morning. I worked for eleven hours today, and I’m exhausted. I love you, please go to sleep.”

Jane huffs, but then Petra feels her shift down beside her. “You’re very annoying sometimes,” she whispers angrily.

It’s not real anger. Petra’s seen that. Petra’s been on the receiving end of that. This isn’t it. This is Jane, annoyed that she hasn’t fully gotten her way and _trying_ to be angry.

“So are you,” Petra hums. “But you’re very lovable anyway.”

Petra can feel Jane smiling against her shoulder as she falls asleep.

…

…

She’s sweating into this _incredibly_ expensive and frivolous dress.

Jane’s arms are wrapped tightly around her, not caring about the sweat one bit. She’s covered in it herself. They’ve been dancing like maniacs, only stopping once or twice for more alcohol, occasionally switching partners, and brownies.

Luisa is grinding on Susanna beside them, exaggerated and having the time of her life. Rafael and Michael are attempting to out break dance each other, with Anezka as the judge, and they’re both _terrible_ at it. Lina is trying to pursued Alba into learning a few new dance moves with limited success. And Petra saw Xiomara and Rogelio walk off together a few moments ago. She hopes that by the end of the night, maybe they will finally get back together and stop being miserable without each other. It sounds like Rogelio might try, from the way that he was talking while he danced with her half an hour ago.

Their children have been put to bed by nannies, hours ago. _Their_ children. Petra smiles into Jane’s temple and sways, out of sync with the music.

“We’re married,” Petra hears herself whisper.

Jane’s laughter is light and beautiful against Petra’s face. “We are,” she agrees. “We have been for two years.”

“Are we going to be celebrating tonight, or two years ago as our anniversary?” Petra asks.

“It’s the same day. We did that on purpose.”

“Right, but for the years.”

“Two years ago,” Jane says confidently.

Petra smiles, remembering that day. Sitting in the same stairwell they had first sat in, finally just _talking_ to each other. How unbelievably young Jane had seemed, how eager she had been to save Petra, to _do something,_ to help a woman that she barely even liked. Petra stopped believing in fairy tales a very long time ago, but that day, Jane had given her some of that back. Jane cared about her two percent, and that was enough.

That became everything.

Jane had looked at her and saw something worth saving. Something that Petra had given up on seeing in herself.  

Jane's proposal had been... practical. And emotional. And... it had felt like a way out. Jane had held her hand, looked at her and promised protection. Friendship. It was crazy, and desperate, and felt like someone had finally offered her a lifeline. A reprieve.

A silence had fallen between them and solidified somewhere around Petra’s diaphragm, and then _—_

Back then, Petra had thought that she knew better than to make any place a home, any person; there was no home to go to, only running and running until you fell down. Now, her home is a real place, sprawling and full of things collected from each of their very large number of family members. Now, her home is Jane. Her family. Her children. Her friends.

People leave, and they hurt you, and this is a part of life. Her mother taught her that. But Jane—Jane taught her that people can also save you. That they can come back. And that is a part of life too.

It’s okay to make a person your home, and it’s brave to let yourself love, and to be optimistic.

Two years ago, she never, _ever_ would have imagined herself standing in a white dress, Jane in her arms, married. A mother, a daughter-in-law, a sister, content in a way that she never imagined for herself. But now, she can’t imagine anything less. 

Jane kisses her, catching her attention. “Hey,” she says softly. “What are you thinking about?”

“You, proposing to me in a stairwell.”

Jane smiles, and lifts up on her toes, kissing Petra again. “Brilliant idea I had, huh?”

Petra laughs into her mouth. “I suppose it wasn’t terrible.”

Jane squawks, and spins Petra out abruptly. She laughs the whole way, even as she knocks into Anezka a little and is yanked back into Jane’s arms with force. “It _was_ brilliant,” Jane repeats, her arms warm and strong around Petra, a grin on the edge of her lips.

Petra leans in and kisses her wife, smiling all the while, hearing clapping begin to surround them over the music. Jane’s tongue brushes against hers, just for a moment, and her hands tighten around Petra’s waist. When Petra pulls back, enough to press their foreheads against each other, Jane is giving her a full-watt smile. “Yes,” Petra says, “it was.”


	18. together, wherever we go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am _so_ sorry that it too nearly a month to get the epilogue out. all i can say is that real life kicked my ass. work has been insane. (4 more days and i'm out of here forever!!) and then the internet stopped working. i'm really sorry. 
> 
> this has been a wild ride, thank you so much for all your comments and kudos and enthusiasm, it means the world:)

Ellie is screaming her head off.

Petra puts her head down on the table, her hair falling over her face. Ellie only screams louder. The two of them are alone in the house. Jane is out at the park with Mateo and Anna for the afternoon. Ellie is still recovering from the remnants of a cold, miserable and furious at being left behind.

Petra is exhausted. Ellie has recovered enough to be a holy terror, but not quite as much as she would like to hope.

“Ellie,” Petra says, as calmly as she can. Her voice is muffled against the table and with her hair covering her face. Ellie doesn’t pay her any mind. “Ellie, _please_ stop screaming.”

“I WANT TO GOOOOO!” she wails, for the millionth time. At this rate, she’s going to lose her voice. “MOMMY, YOU HAVE TO LET ME GOOO,” she’s standing up in her high chair, three years of righteous fury built up precisely for this apparent moment. “TEO AND ANNA GOT TO. ME _TOO_ MOMMY!” her voice cracks from the strain and Petra has had enough.

“Elsa,” she snaps harshly, lifting her head and directing a firm gaze at her daughter. “Stop. Shouting.”

Ellie is shocked into silence. Standing up in her chair, her thick brown hair all over the place, face bright pink and full of tears. She glares back in defiance, but she doesn’t scream again.

“Thank you,” Petra says, much softer this time.

“Mommy,” she whines. “It’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not,” Petra gets a cool cloth and gently wipes at Elsa’s face. She sniffles, still shaking with anger. “Elsa, unfortunately, a lot of life is unfair. It will be better for you if you figure that out sooner rather than later.”

“No,” she reaches up and tugs at the end of Petra’s shirt. Petra sets the cloth down on top of the counter, and Elsa crawls up her body. She never waits to be picked up, never has. She crawls her way on top of people and forces them to hold her, the minute that she sees free hands—sometimes even before then. “Why?” she asks, once Petra has her secured in her arms.

“Because life is unpredictable, and you never know what is going to happen. Sometimes things, are just going to be shit,” she says simply. Jane is not overly fond of the straightforward way that Petra usually talks to the children, but she’s become quieter in her protests over the last year or so. They’ve had the same conversation many times: Petra refuses to talk to the children any differently than she would an adult. She hates people who coo at babies with high-pitched nonsense—she’s snapped at many who have tried with her children the last three years—and she doesn’t believe in treating children as if they are any less capable than their adult counterparts. They’re still learning, they might need some things simplified, some edges smoothed over a bit, but they don’t deserve to be lied to, or talked down to.

Elsa drops her head against Petra’s shoulder with a huge sigh. “Why shit?” she asks. If Jane were here, she’d have a coronary.

Petra shrugs. “Baby, if you end up figuring that out, I hope you tell me.”

Ellie snuggles herself closer, tucking her tiny body into an even smaller one. “I want to go,” she cries once more, barely any force to it.

“I know,” Petra rubs at her back. “And I’m sorry that you can’t, but you will get to go soon. That, I can promise.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Ellie tilts her head up and looks right into Petra’s eyes. She always has to check for confirmation, a quirk of Anna’s that she’s adopted as her own. “Okay,” she grumbles. “But today is shit,” she adds, the edges of her eyes lighting up mischievously, knowing that she’s getting away with something.

“Yes,” Petra agrees, patting her daughter’s bottom, just a little hard enough to let her know that she’s not quite getting away with it. “Today is shit.”

Ellie gives her a grin, nose full of snot.

…

…

Jane’s hair catches in the sunlight that’s spilling in through the window. Petra lifts a chunk of it up higher with a finger, and Jane smiles into her pillow as she does.

“What?” she mumbles.

“Nothing.”

Jane isn’t satisfied with that, she reaches out and tugs Petra towards her, laughing and kissing her. Petra is happy to switch her attention from Jane’s hair to Jane’s lips, and soon, her attention is directed elsewhere.

Jane’s hips are canting forward, into Petra’s mouth as she lets out small hisses of pleasure. And that’s when the pounding on the door starts.

“MAMA!” Anna screams. “MATEO TOOK ELLIE’S DOLL.”

“Fuck,” Jane lets out a breath, Petra doesn’t stop. “Pet… tra,” she moans. “Don’t… _fuck_ ,” she breathes.

“MOMMY!” Anna screams, banging on the door again. “MATEO NEEDS TO BE IN TROUBLE. ELLIE IS CRYING.” They can in fact, hear Ellie’s sobs through the door.

“I’m…” Jane groans as Petra’s tongue flicks against her clit. “Give us a second!” she manages to yell out. Petra laughs, sucking on her clit as Jane’s hips jump up again.

Jane comes as Anna starts screaming, “NO WAY MAMA. RIGHT NOW! MATEO, YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE!” Jane clamps her hands over her mouth to try and keep herself quiet.

Petra wipes her mouth and leaves Jane on the bed, her breath still coming out in short bursts. She quickly wraps a robe around herself and slips out of the door, almost knocking Anna over she’s so close.

“Mommy,” she says forcefully, “punish him,” she jams her pointer finger down the hall at her brother, the death glare of all death glares etched onto her face. Ellie, sobs and holds Anna’s other hand beside her.

“Mateo,” Petra calls out, much more calmly than Anna would like. “Did you take Ellie’s doll?”

Mateo, all of four years old and a massive head of curly black hair, shuffles his feet back and forth and doesn’t look Petra in the eye. There is something behind his back. Petra sighs.

“HE DID!” Anna screams.

“Anna,” Petra chides, “stop yelling.” Turning to Mateo she crosses her arms over her chest and waits. “Mateo?” she prompts after a moment. Miserably, he drags his feet over towards her and presents the doll from behind his back. “Thank you,” Petra takes it and passes it over to Ellie, still sniffling. Anna immediately wraps her arms around her sister.

“I’m sorry,” Mateo mumbles. “I wanted to play.”

Petra turns back towards the twins. “Did you kick him out again?” she directs towards Anna.

Three years old and terrified of nothing, Anna sticks her chin up in the air. “We didn’t do that.”

“They did!” Mateo yells.

“No,” Anna says calmly. “That’s not true. He’s lying.”

“I’m not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Are _too!”_

“NO I AM NOT!”

“Everyone, _stop talking,_ ” Petra uses the same voice that she taught Jane, the day she ended up giving birth to the twins. _God_ that feels like a lifetime ago. All three of her children are immediately silent. It only works when Petra does it, something that she can’t help but feel a little bit vindicated by. “Girls, you are not allowed to exclude Mateo. Mateo, you are not allowed to take their things away from them in retaliation. All of you, go play and get along,” with that, Petra walks back into her bedroom and shuts the door.

“Petra!” she hears Jane hiss. “What if they—”

Petra holds up a hand, and they both listen. Anna is dictating the new rules of their game, fight forgotten already. Petra looks at Jane smugly. “You were saying?”

“And you once thought that you’d be terrible at this,” Jane yanks her forward by her robe strap, peeling it off and pushing Petra down onto the bed. By the time they hear the children moving downstairs, Jane’s tongue has already made Petra forget as well.

…

…

“I think this is a stupid idea,” Petra announces, for the third time. Luisa and Anezka pay her no attention. “Did you hear me?”

“We did,” Luisa finally answers.

“We’re ignoring you,” Anezka adds.

Petra frowns. “Fuck you both,” she says, much more childishly than she intends. Luisa reaches a hand behind her and pats at whatever part of Petra she can manage to hit—the side of her arm, a chunk of hair, then, whacking her in the nose. Petra shoves her away.

“Don’t be mean,” Luisa whines.

“Me!?” Petra gapes. “ _Me_ be mean? What about the two of you? What exactly are you doing _now?_ ”

“Spending your money,” Anezka says, finally looking up from Petra’s laptop. She grins at her sister and Petra glares back. Anezka is undeterred. She’s spent far too much time with Luisa in the last four years.  “It’s for a good cause,” she shrugs, then goes back to what she’d been doing.

Luisa points at the screen. “That one,” she says, then rises and walks over to Petra. Her arms encircle her for a moment, loosely draping themselves around Petra’s jumpy frame. “You’re panicking,” she grins a little, not quite feeling it.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Luisa’s more subdued now, realizing that this isn’t a joke.

Petra doesn’t actually know how to answer that. There is no discernible reason for her to be panicking at all. Except, that she _is._

“I don’t know,” she says quietly, ashamed. Dr. Villafañe told her once that children who grow up in abusive households—physical or not—sometimes will just… revert. A momentary panic attack, or bout of uncomfortableness that cannot be explained, or is seemingly triggered by anything. Except, that there is a trigger, some explanation to be found. Perhaps not until much later.

Petra looks over at Anezka, sitting at her desk and shopping for a new school backpack for Mateo’s first day of kindergarten. 

And, now she knows why she’s panicking.

“Shit,” Petra mumbles. “I’m fine, sorry.”

Luisa frowns at her, the arms still loosely hugging, as if unsure if they’re helping or hurting. “Petra…” she trails off, sharing a worried glance with Anezka.

“I’m fine,” Petra insists, sounding much more convincing this time. “It’s… old shit.” Their code word. _I’m not okay, but I also am going to be in a few minutes._ Luisa uses it when she’s feeling crappy about her alcoholism, or her dead mother, her jailed former lover, her daddy issues, any one of the few. Petra uses it mainly when things with her mother, her childhood, or her shitty former marriages crop up.

A code.

 _Give me a minute_.

Luisa nods, the arms around Petra tightening for a momentary squeeze, then gone. Luisa steps back over near Anezka, who frowns at Petra from her spot. Petra gives her a weak smile and waves her off as she moves over to get a glass of water. Anezka doesn’t really get the code. Not in the way that Luisa and Petra do. She wants to _talk._ Rehash it all with a surgeon’s precision. Leave no rock un-turned and no scar un-prodded.

Therapy is doing some wonders for _her_ childhood trauma as well. Anezka has no problems talking about it. In fact, she can’t seem to stop. (She might be afraid of what happens when she finally _does._ ) Petra tolerates it for a few minutes, then tells her to call her therapist. She’s the person that Anezka needs to talk about all of this with. At least most of the time.

“Do you not like the backpack?” she asks.

“The backpack is fine. Mateo will love it.”

Anezka frowns up at her. “Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Anezka clearly doesn’t believe her. Petra sighs and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “My first day of school was terrible. I didn’t have a backpack. This made me think about getting teased and Mother being awful. That’s all.” Her voice softens and her arms drop down to her sides. “I’m fine, really,” she assures Anezka.

Anezka’s frown doesn’t go away, but she nods. “Okay. We can talk about it if you want.”

“I don’t want.”

“It’s healthy if you talk about it.”

Luisa snorts and pushes Anezka over. “ _I’m_ buying the damn backpack. Jane will be surprised. Mateo will be surprised. Everybody is going to be happy. There!” she jumps up with a flourish. “Now, can we get something to eat please? I’m starving. We can keep talking about our collective crappy childhoods if you want. As long as I get a burger or something too.”

“Oh!” Anezka lights up. “I would also like a burger.”

Petra rolls her eyes and grabs her purse. “Fine, hamburgers all around. And we have to talk about something _other_ than our crappy childhoods for the majority of the lunch, or I’m leaving.”

Anezka wraps her arms around Petra and squeezes tight. Her hugs are always as tight and as long as possible. Petra actually looks forward to them.

Sometimes.

Now, she shoves her sister off. “Ugh, come on.”

Anezka and Luisa both catch the smile that’s on Petra’s face.

…

…

Jane sobs.

Petra, does not _sob,_ but there are a surprising amount of tears as she watches Mateo’s floppy dark hair bounce as he jumps onto the school bus. He gets a window seat and waves happily at the both of them as the bus pulls away. And Jane sobs as she waves back, one hand clutched tightly into Petra’s.

Petra doesn’t take her eyes away until the bus is out of her sight. “Fuck,” she mutters, “he’s old enough for school.”

“I hate this,” Jane knocks her head down into Petra’s chest, forcing a hug like Ellie does. Petra bites back her smile, Jane wouldn’t appreciate it right now. “I miss him already.”

“He’ll be back in six hours.”

Jane snaps her head up, nearly colliding with Petra’s chin. “How are you so blasé about this?” she takes in Petra’s face, and then her voice softens. “Oh, you aren’t. You’re doing that whole _‘sucking in all your emotions’_ thing,” she pinches Petra’s arm a bit, just enough to make her flinch, not enough to hurt. “Stop it,” she almost pouts.

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” she can hear the hint of a pout forming in her own voice. Her spine straightens in response.

“I know,” Jane says, curling into Petra gently this time. “But stop it anyway, okay?”

Petra chuckles, the tightness in her gut from the sight of Mateo being driven away from her loosening a bit. “I’ll do my best,” she assures Jane. “No promises though.”

“Ugh, I’m gonna go inside and cry and make both of the girls hug me for an hour. Want to come?”

“I have to get to work,” Petra allows Jane to tug her back into the house. “But… maybe for a minute.”

“They’re gonna be in school next year too,” Jane groans. “Why are they all so big already?”

“Mama!” Ellie yells from somewhere, probably the kitchen. “Anna spilled milk!”

“Ellie spilled too!”

Definitely the kitchen.

Jane groans as she walks ahead of Petra and they take in the disaster area. Milk is indeed all over the counter top and the floor. Ellie has even somehow managed to coat most of her hair with it. She’s on top of the counter, one of her knees curled up in half a squat, brown hair dripping with almond milk, smacking at the puddle with a gleeful little grin. Anna is standing up in her chair, milk down the front of her purple nightgown, hair disheveled and bushy from sleep, frowning at her sister.

“Girls,” Petra sighs, “why?”

“Look Mommy,” Ellie smacks at the puddle again. Almond milk flicks her sisters face.

“Stop!” Anna yells.

Jane reaches over and lifts Ellie off of the table with one arm and not a word other than, “Bath.” Ellie’s protests can be heard all the way upstairs. Jane shuts each one down calmly, almost happily. Ellie’s milk nonsense is probably the perfect distraction for Jane right now.

Petra turns to their other daughter. Anna is still standing on top of her chair, very annoyed. She pulls the front of her nightgown out away from her chest. “Look!” she yells. “She ruined it!”

“It’s not ruined Anna,” Petra gets a towel and starts cleaning up the mess. “It just needs to be washed. Take it off, we’ll put it in the washing machine.”

Anna wastes no time. She yanks her nightgown up over her head and holds it out, shivering in just her underwear, still sticky and wet from the milk. “Mommy, now,” she insists.

Petra mops up the last of the spill, (Ellie’s puddle was significant enough to need three towels) and takes the nightgown. Anna, holds her arms out as well, waiting to be picked up. Of all her children, Anna is the least physically affectionate. She squirms away from hugs after a few seconds. She wants to walk, always, kicking herself out of Rafael’s arms or whomever gets it in their heads to carry her to their destination—as soon as she could wobble on her little legs, she did. She will indulge kisses and hands on her in passing, but never seeks them out herself. Not unless she is miserable, or Jane is around.

She is so much like Petra that it frightens her. Petra doesn’t remember starting out this way. She reached for her mother at that age, she learned to stop when Magda never reached back.

Five years of being surrounded by children—her children—every single say and Petra is certainly used to tiny, sticky hands clawing at her, desperate for attention and affection and immediacy. But it still catches her by surprise sometimes, when Mateo or Ellie will knock their heads into her shoulder or chest, wrapping themselves around her tightly for no other reason than she is right there, and they want to be touching her. Petra doesn’t feel that urge the majority of the time, not even with Jane. Jane’s hands seek her out constantly, and Petra is always happy and reciprocates, but her hands only seek out Jane when there is a reason. A purpose behind them. Never _just because._

Perhaps, she’s always had that. Perhaps, Anna inherited it from her. So, when Anna reaches for her, Petra knows that there is a good enough reason in her four year old head to do so.

And she always, _always,_ reaches back.

“Mateo’s gone,” Anna says as Petra lifts her up into her arms. The twins are still tiny. Light as anything, and easy to pick up and carry short distances. Mateo, has long since surpassed Petra’s ability to carry him. A fact that shocked her the last time she tried. (Jane found her, crying in the shower and slipped in, wrapping her arms around Petra tightly. _You could give him a piggyback._ She joked. _That’s still well within the realm of possibility._ Petra scoffed at her and started washing her hair. But she did give Mateo a piggyback the very next day.) Petra wonders how much longer it will be before she can’t lift her daughters and carry them hardly any length of distance. Next year? When they start school too? Or later, when they finally have a significant growth spurt.

She’s not looking forward to it. Oddly enough.

“He’s in school,” Petra explains, setting Anna on top of the dryer and tossing her nightgown into the wash. “Remember, we told you he was going. He’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Three o’clock,” Anna supplies, pushing the bottle of detergent towards Petra. “Will we go get him?”

“No,” Petra closes the lid and turns the wash on. “He’ll come back on the bus too, remember?” she bends down and finds a clean t-shirt, tugging it over Anna’s head. Anna cooperates and stands up, her arms using Petra’s shoulders to steady herself as Petra helps her step into one of her favorite skirts.

“Will you be here when he gets home?” she asks. “Will Mama?”

“Jane will be here,” Petra finds a brush and gets to work, gently tugging the knots out of her daughter’s thin, white blonde hair. “She’s working from home today. Which means that you and Ellie need to be—”

“Quiet and not fight while Mama’s trying to write,” Anna fills in. “I know.”

Jane has been working on the final stages of her first novel for the last year. She’s finally got an agent and an editor, and a publishing date. A real company is publishing her novel. It’s been almost three and a half years in the making, but her thesis idea is now about to be a reality. Alba’s life story, fictionalized and dramatized and _perfect._ Petra has been allowed to read each new draft, and it’s stunning. She’s so proud that it makes her a little nauseous. (Jane kissed her silly when Petra told her that.)

Petra begins braiding Anna’s hair. One French braid, just the way she likes it. Ellie likes her hair down and wild.

“So,” Anna repeats, turning around and facing Petra once she’s done with her hair. “Will you be here? Will Daddy?”

“I’m going to try, but probably not. Rafael and I have a big meeting this afternoon. It probably won’t be over by three. Jane is going to bring all of you to The Marbella. We’re going to have dinner to celebrate.”

“All of us?” Anna asks. Petra knows that she means is _everyone_ coming. Alba, Luisa, Anezka, Xiomara and Rogelio. The whole family.

“Not tonight. It’s a school night. We’ll celebrate with Rafael, and this weekend I’m sure there will be something with everyone.”

Anna considers this, her lips pursing together in thought. “Will this happen when Ellie and I go to school too?” she asks.

“Yes. We’ll have a party for the two of you when it’s your turn.”

“Next year?”

“Yes, next year.”

Petra hears Ellie and Jane coming back downstairs, a similar conversation playing out from the sounds of it. Just louder and with much more enthusiasm coming from the both of them. Anna looks up at Petra, locking eyes with her. “Okay Mommy,” she shrugs. “See you later,” she holds her arms out for help down from the dryer, and then she’s off, looking for Ellie.

Petra goes off to get ready for work, she’s already later than she wanted to be.

She’s rushing down into the kitchen eleven minutes later, makeup done, laptop bag in hand, searching for her purse and coffee when Jane steps right in front of her, both things in her hands and a smirk on her face. “Hi,” she says.

“I’m late,” Petra slings the purse onto her shoulder and reaches for the coffee mug. Jane holds it away from her. “Jane,” Petra whines. “I’m _late_.”

Jane’s eyebrows go up, and she just waits. Petra rolls her eyes, kisses Jane, and grabs the coffee out of her hand. “Mateo’s old enough for kindergarten,” Jane complains once Petra pulls away.

“I know,” Petra kisses Jane one more time. “I hate it a little bit too,”

“You hate it a lot!” Jane yells as Petra runs out the door. “Admit it! Girls, tell her to admit it!”

Ellie runs to the open door, watching Petra throw her things into her car. “ADMIT IT MOMMY!” she yells gleefully. “Admit what?” she asks, turning back towards Jane.

“Defeat,” Anna supplies, coming up behind her sister. “Right Mama?”

“CLOSE ENOUGH!” Jane yells.

Petra turns around, holding the door to the driver’s seat open. “You know we’re the loudest people who live on this street, right?”

“ADMIT YOUR DEFEAT MOMMY!” Ellie screams. Jane grins and Anna laughs, bright and loud.

Petra rolls her eyes, climbs into the car, and pulls out of the driveway. “Never,” she calls out happily, and drives to work with a shit-eating grin on her face.

…

…

Jane stops breathing.

Petra drops the newspaper that she was reading and gets up out of her seat. “Is that it?” she asks, almost reverently.

Jane can only nod and stare down at the package before her, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Mama’s crying!” Mateo yells. “Why?”

Ellie and Anna look up from their pancakes and frown simultaneously. Not a single person in this household can handle it when Jane is upset.

“There happy tears baby,” Jane finally gets out. “There… _oh my God,_ ” she gasps, and holds up her book. Hardcover, published, ready to go out to all the stores in the world. It’s beautiful. 

“That’s her book,” Petra says proudly. She walks over and kisses Jane deeply. All three children groan and make faces before turning back to their breakfasts. “You wrote a book,” she whispers. Jane nods, tears flowing madly now.

“I did!”

“I’m so proud of you,” Petra kisses her again and she feels Jane melt against her.

“Mama wrote a book!!” Ellie yells, brandishing her fork around like a flag. Syrup flies around the kitchen. “Wahoo! Can I read it?”

“You can’t read good enough,” Mateo grumbles. “I can though, can I read it Mama? Cause I’m in first grade!”

“I can _too_ read!” Ellie yells. “I’m in Kindergarten and I’m the best reader in my class!” she turns towards Jane indignantly. “I _can_ Mama, right?”

“Yes, Ellie,” Jane says. “You’re a fantastic reader for your age. All of you are. But I think probably you won’t read my book for a few years. I’ll read some of it to all of you though, I promise.”

Ellie turns and looks at Mateo, he shrugs and Ellie mimics him. “Okay,” she says, and turns back to her pancakes.

“I wrote a book,” Jane whispers a moment later.

Petra picks it up and looks at it. “Yes,” she beams, “you did.”

…

…

Petra doesn’t move. Not one inch.

Anezka keeps prattling on, but Petra has tuned her out. The hum of her words feel like tiny glass shards nicking at her skin. It’s only Jane’s hand, coming up to the small of Petra’s back and rubbing slowly, that knocks Petra back into herself.

“No,” she says, low and firm.

“But, Petra—”

_“No.”_

“She’s different,” Anezka continues on as if Petra hasn’t made herself perfectly clear. As if she hasn’t made herself _abundantly_ clear on this issue for _years._ “Obviously she’s never going to be mother of the year, but she’s _trying_ at least. Don’t you think that counts for something?”

Petra can feel Jane’s hand on back, it’s the only thing keeping her from losing her cool completely. “No. I don’t think it counts for anything, not after what she’s done. I don’t care if she’s _sorry,_ or if she feels bad about it. _She should._ My children are _never_ going to meet her. And I’m not going to change my mind about that, no matter how many times you visit her and say that she seems different. So stop asking me, or you won’t be seeing them anymore either,” she snaps.

“Petra,” Jane admonishes. But she’s gone. Up out of her chair, out of Jane’s arms, and far away from Anezka’s hurt face.

She locks herself in the bathroom.

Hilariously, or ironically, Petra considers, for a concerning length of time, barricading herself in here for the remainder of the night. It’s the same bathroom she thought about locking herself up in the very first night that she stayed with Jane. Like then, she knows that Jane would just come in and break the door down or do something else dramatically ridiculous.

Probably sick the children on her. Ellie would only be delighted to bang on the door or crawl through the bathroom window to get Petra out. She could do it without any help too, there’s a reason they’ve put her in gymnastics. She won’t stop climbing on top of things, she might as well know what she’s doing.

Petra looks at herself in the mirror and straightens her shoulders. Her necklace falls out of her blouse and Petra loops a finger inside of it, pulling it back and forth on its chain. The ring stays black. Both rings lost their ability to change colors about two years ago. Five years for a cheap CVS mood ring seems like a longer time than expected. They’ve both got real wedding bands on their fingers now, the mood rings hang around their necks, stupidly sentimental.

There’s a knock on the door, Petra sighs.

“It’s me,” Jane’s voice calls out softly.

“Come in.”

Jane slips through the door, closing it behind her and surveys Petra. She’s looking for tears, or any other sign of a breakdown. She doesn’t find any. Petra has long since used up all of her tears on Magda.

“Hi,” Jane says softly and moves to sit on the edge of the bathtub.

“I’m fine,” Petra insists, dropping her hold on the necklace. Jane’s eyes, always aware of her, follow the movement, and she smiles. Petra can’t resist smiling back at her. A fact that after seven years, is _still_ just a little bit annoying. “I _am,_ ” she says. “I’m just sick of her asking me. I hate that she goes to see her. I hate that she’s giving her this power over her. She’s—” Petra shoves some hair out of her face. “She doesn’t know what Magda is like, not really. Telling her about it doesn’t seem to quite get through, and I don’t know what to do anymore. She’s going to get hurt,” Petra adds in a whisper. “And I can’t stop it.”

“Petra,” Jane says, very, very carefully. Whatever is about to come out of her wife’s mouth, Petra is _not_ going to like. “Maybe, you need to just… let them have a relationship.”

Petra laughs, but there’s a stretched sound to it. “Excuse me?”

Jane shifts, sitting up straighter and gearing up for a proper speech. Petra nearly walks out of the bathroom before she can say another word, but she grounds her feet into the floor instead.

“Look, Magda is a terrible person. I don’t think any amount of prison is ever going to _really_ change that. But, prison _is_ designed to be a punishment that changes you. Forces you to really think about what you’ve done to land yourself there. The whole point is to try and make you a better person than when you came in right?”

“She’s not getting out,” Petra hisses. “She got twenty-five years. She’ll die in there.”

“Probably, yeah. And Anezka knows that. And… look, she doesn’t understand how you feel, no matter how many times you try to explain it to her, because she didn’t live it. She can sympathize, but she’s never going to get it in the way that you do. And, Petra, you’re never going to understand why she might need this, no matter how many times she tries to tell you.”

“What!? Jane, she—”

“Wants to get to know the woman who gave birth to her. That’s not a crime Petra,” she adds gently.

“She wants the girls to visit with her!” Petra snaps. “Are you… _seriously?”_

“That’s not happening,” Jane says firmly. “We’ve already talked about that, many times. I’m right there with you, I don’t want them anywhere near her, and I think going to visit someone in prison would be scary and confusing for them anyway. But…”

“But, _what?”_

“But they’re seven, and they’re smart, and I think they deserve to know about her. I think they’re old enough to at least be told the very basics. I don’t want to lie to them. And I think Anezka is right on that count.”

Petra doesn’t answer. She looks out the window and sucks in a breath. And, then she laughs, just on the side of bitter as a mess of wild brown curls appears in the window, and whispers of _‘can you see them?’_ come from below.

Jane rolls her eyes, noticing the same thing as Petra. “Speak of the devils,” she moves to get up and open the window fully, surprising Ellie.

“Oh, hi Mama,” Ellie says, crouched halfway on top of Anna’s back, one leg up on a branch.

“Oh, hi Mama,” Jane reaches out and starts hauling Ellie inside. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“Um…” Ellie presses her lips together, waiting for Anna to come up with a better line.

“Can I come in too?” Anna asks, trying her hand at climbing into the window on her own. Petra grabs at her quickly before she slips. She’s not as deft as her sister. She refuses to take any sort of gymnastics class. For her, she wants ballet, soccer, or nothing.

The two of them are still light as anything, and Petra hauls Anna up without too much effort. “Why exactly are the two of you climbing through your grandmother’s window?”

“Cause we wanted to know what was going on,” Anna says, without preamble. “Everyone’s being weird.”

Ellie situates herself on Jane’s lap, the two of them back on the edge of the bathtub. Petra sighs, locking eyes with Jane and giving her the barest of nods as she sinks down on top of the toilet seat. Anna hovers beside her, standing between everyone and waiting. Jane sucks in a breath and starts for Petra, for which she is eternally grateful. She has no idea where to begin with this.

Petra sits there while Jane explains (in _very_ minimal detail) about Petra’s mother and her childhood. The children already know that Petra grew up in the Ukraine. They all understand a handful of Ukrainian words, and they know that Petra and Anezka didn’t grow up together. Jane fills in a few more blanks, Ellie looking slightly confused and angry on her lap, and Anna, giving away nothing.

Finally, Petra interjects and takes over. She doesn’t sugar coat anything, not that Jane was trying to, but she puts it out there much more bluntly than Jane does. Anna’s eyes never leave her face. Ellie becomes as righteous as Jane once she hears about Magda having Petra arrested. It takes a few minutes to calm her down enough to finish the entire story.

“I _hate_ her,” Ellie declares, face full of fury. She slumps further back into Jane’s chest and crosses her arms. “I’m not going with Aunt Anezka.”

“You don’t have to,” Jane reassures her, rubbing at her arms. “We’d actually rather that you didn’t, we just wanted to let you both know.”

“Does Mateo know?” Anna asks, the first words she’s spoken since they began.

“He knows a little already,” Petra tells her. “We’ll be telling him the same thing that we told you later tonight.”

Anna considers this. She hasn’t moved towards either Jane, Ellie or Petra during this entire conversation, and her face has remained blank throughout. Petra knows that this means nothing, her mind is whirling, she just knows how to hide it. Petra sucks in a breath, she knows what Anna is going to say only seconds before it comes out of her mouth.

“I want to go see her,” Anna says, quietly but with conviction.

“Anna,” Jane starts, “that’s not really what we—”

“I want to go see her,” Anna repeats.

Ellie gapes at her sister. “ _I_ don’t,” she repeats, crawling off of Jane’s lap and passing her sister as she crawls onto Petra’s, wrapping her arms tightly around Petra’s neck and hugging her. “I don’t want to meet her. She’s mean, and I hate her, and I love you,” she whispers this last part into Petra’s neck, but all three of them hear her.

“You don’t have to,” Jane says. “Anna, I’m not sure this…” she locks eyes with Petra, and Petra knows that her own face mirrors their daughter’s at the moment: carefully blank to the outside world. Jane sighs. “We’ll think about it,” she settles on.

Anna turns towards Petra and looks her right in the eye. “I want to go see her,” she says one more time, and then she slips out of the bathroom, through the door this time.

“She can’t Mom,” Ellie insists once Anna is gone. “No,” she tightens her grip on Petra, refusing to be put down once Petra tries to stand. Thank god she is still light enough that Petra can lift her, because she refuses to be put down all throughout dinner, situating herself on Petra’s lap while they all gather around the small table. Anezka is still here, and Rafael and Luisa have joined them, there isn’t much elbow room to go around. But, these dinners with everyone have become something of a Sunday night tradition for the last couple of years. They’re used to not having much space.

Rafael and Mateo are talking excitedly about his upcoming soccer game. Raf tries multiple times to include Anna in the conversation (she’s on the same soccer team) but she’s quiet tonight, staring across the table at Petra for most of the evening, only offering up one word answers when spoken to. Petra can’t figure out exactly what’s going on in her head, and she hates it. Ellie takes up most of her focus. She’s reverting to much more childlike behavior than they’ve seen from her in years, cuddly and whiny and refusing to allow anyone apart from herself to take up any Petra’s attention.

Finally, once desert has come around Mateo’s had enough. “STOP BEING A BABY!” he yells at her.

Ellie begins to bawl, and with that the night is over.

Since she’s already in her arms, and absolutely determined to stay there, Petra lifts Ellie up, thanks Alba and kisses her on the way out to the car. She can hear both Jane and Rafael reprimanding Mateo, and shuffling both him and Anna along behind them. It’s getting late anyway, and it’s a school night.

“No,” Ellie yells as Petra tries to deposit her into the backseat.

“Elsa,” Petra starts prying her arms off from the death grip they’ve got around her neck. “Stop it, now.”

“NO!” Ellie screams again.

“Why is she doing that?” Mateo asks as they come up to the car, frustration in his voice.

“Mateo, in the car,” Jane says firmly. He groans, and kicks out at the dirt, but hugs Rafael goodbye and complies.

“Bye Daddy,” Anna says, the first words that Petra has heard her speak in about an hour. She sees Anna tug his hand to get him to bend down. He wraps her up in a hug and melts. Despite the way the evening has gone, Petra can’t help but smirk at that. Still hilarious, and still always useful.

Anna climbs into the backseat beside Mateo, and both of them watch Ellie have a fit as Rafael helps pry her away from Petra. She screeches. Of the, _I hate you Daddy, I hate you Mama, I hate everyone_ variety. Rafael and Jane take it in stride, it’s hardly her first temper tantrum in the last seven years, and likely, it won’t be her last. Rafael manages to hold her flailing limbs down and buckle her without so much as a scratch, and once she’s realized defeat, she slumps, wailing but no longer trying to break free. Anna leans over and whispers something into Mateo’s ear.

“NO SECRETS!” Ellie screams. “MOM! THAT’S NOT FAIR. IT’S A RULE!”

Jane pulls the car away from the curb, waving to Rafael as Petra slumps in the passenger seat, exhausted and wondering why the hell she ever thought that having children was a good idea. The twenty minutes that it takes them to drive back home are unbearable, Ellie will not be silenced, not now that she is truly on a roll. Jane talks to her the entire drive anyway, her voice calm but loud, rising above Ellie’s pitches and wails. She talks about nonsense. The actual words don’t matter, just the hum of Jane’s gentle voice, lulling Ellie into a sense of calm by the time that they pull into their driveway.

Mateo and Anna bust out of the car together and run inside, Petra calling out at them to wash their faces and put on their pajamas. She and Jane wait for Ellie to climb out of the car herself, though she tries, holding her hands up and waiting for Petra to lift her.

“No, you’re old enough to walk,” she says, not harshly. “Let’s go.”

Ellie looks at Jane, hopeful, but Jane merely shakes her head. Ellie’s head drops down to her chest and she shuffles out of the car miserably. “Can I please sleep with you guys?” she asks once they’ve gotten inside. “Please?”

Petra looks at Jane and Jane shrugs. “If you start behaving, I suppose so,” Petra says.

Ellie immediately perks up. “I will!” She yells and runs up the stairs to go get ready for bed.

“I have a headache,” Petra groans. “And we should talk to Mateo.”

“I can, if you’re too tired—”

“No, I should be there,” Petra says. “It’s about me. It should come from me.” Jane’s arm slips around Petra’s waist, and next thing that she knows, she is being pulled into a hug. Petra sinks into it. “He knows some of it already, it won’t take as long as with the girls.”

“I’m gonna go make sure they’re really getting ready, and I’ll meet you in his room?”

“Okay.”

Jane goes off, and Petra heads towards Mateo’s bedroom. He’s already in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, scribbling away at something at his desk. Petra knocks on the door frame. Mateo’s head whips around and he smiles at the sight of her. “Mom, look,” he holds up the picture he had been drawing. Soccer plays from the looks of it. He and Anna are both obsessed. “We’ll totally win with this!”

Petra takes it from him and pretends that it’s something she can understand. She nods and passes it back to him. “Looks great.”

Mateo rolls his eyes. “You don’t know what it means, do you?” he sets his things back up and heads towards his bed.

“No,” Petra admits. “But you’re very good at soccer already, and you know what it means, and I’m sure that it’s brilliant.”

Mateo seems satisfied with this, and he climbs into his bed. “So, why is Ellie being a baby tonight? And why’s Anna all… Weird Anna?”

Petra sits down at the edge of his bed and sighs. “We told them about my mother tonight. Do you remember anything about her?”

Mateo frowns as he thinks, then shrugs. “She’s in jail. She’s a bad lady.”

“Yes. Both of those things are true, but there’s a little more to it.” Mateo waits patiently for her to continue. A trait he’s inherited from Jane. It’s astounding, how this little boy can calm Petra down almost as easily as his mother can. She sighs, and tells him the whole story as bluntly as she told the girls. About growing up dirt poor after the fall of the Soviet Union, moving from cramped flat to cramped flat. About learning to play the violin for money, her hands bleeding from so much practice, carving out a skill from nothing. About Milos—the barest amount that she can tell him—and moving to America. About her marriage to Rafael, some of which, he already knows. About her mother’s schemes, about Alba, about the wheelchair, his birth, the divorce, and about Milos again. When she reaches Ivan, she hesitates, and Jane jumps in from the doorway.

Mateo gives her his rapt attention, his reactions somewhere in between Anna’s blank face and Ellie’s outraged one. By the time she and Jane finish, he’s quietly angry. He takes a beat, then crawls over and wraps himself around Petra.

“That’s not fair Mom,” he whispers. “I don’t want to meet her either. I’m glad she’s in jail.”

“You don’t have to,” Petra assures him. “And so am I.”

“I love you,” he says, then pulls back and kisses both of her cheeks, then her forehead, then her chin. He hasn’t done that routine in years. Petra laughs, just like she knows he wanted, and he bends over to kiss Jane goodnight too before lying back down.

They shut off his light and head back into the hall. “Anna wants you to come say goodnight,” Jane says. “I’ll meet you in our room?”

Petra nods and steps into the girls’ bedroom. “Anna,” she says quietly. Anna is sitting up in bed, waiting. Petra walks over and sits down across from her, just like she had been with Mateo only a few moments ago.

“Did you tell Mateo?” she asks.

“Yes.”

Anna waits. Then, “Did he act like Ellie?”

“No, not quite.”

“Am I going to get to go see her?”

Petra picks at the edge of the blanket. “Why do you want to?” she asks.

“I don’t,” Anna says. “I need to.”

That gets Petra’s attention. She studies her daughter’s face, searching for answers. It’s amazing, how old and wise Anna can come across sometimes, but she’s not. She’s just a little girl.

“Why do you need to?”

“Because of you.”

Petra frowns. “Anna…”

“Yes or no Mommy?”

 _No_ is on the tip of her tongue, pressing against the roof of her mouth and ready to snap out. _No._ And that will be that. But, she can see in Anna’s face that it won’t. The ‘no’ will only make her more insistent. This will go on and on. Anna’s serious, whatever this is about, Petra can see it in her eyes, she does need this.

“Okay,” she finally says, her voice raw. “I’ll take you.”

That surprises Anna. She must have been under the impression that this would be a trip with her aunt, but there is no way in hell that Petra is going to let her mother anywhere near one of her children without being present. Not a chance.

“Okay,” Anna agrees. “Night Mom, I love you.”

“I love you too,” Petra says, and tucks her in. By the time she makes it back to her bed, she’s so bone tired she might actually be in danger of passing right out. Ellie is fighting off sleep waiting for her, and Petra sinks down into the bed, Ellie immediately curling into her and Jane’s arm slipping across them both.

“You okay?” Jane whispers over Ellie’s head. Now that she’s seen Petra, she’s out cold.

“I’m going to take Anna to see my mother,” Petra says. She watches Jane’s eyes narrow and then go soft again. She doesn’t like it. Petra doesn’t either.

“Okay,” Jane says after a beat. “We should definitely get some sleep then.”

Petra chokes out a laugh, and bends over to kiss Jane. “I love you,” she whispers.

Jane smiles. “Yeah, I know.”

…

…

Anna stands stiffly beside Petra, looking out into the small room that Magda will be brought to. It’s dark, and ugly and reflects Petra’s feelings perfectly. She hasn’t been inside of this room in seven years, not since Anna’s birth. Now, she looks over at her daughter, an almost mirror image of her younger self, and swallows thickly.

“Will she be in handcuffs?” Anna asks, her first question since coming inside the building.

“Yes. Her feet might be bound as well. They were the last time I was here, but I don’t know if they will be now.”

“I was a baby when you came here?” Anna’s gaze keeps shooting all over the room, landing on the mirror, then the door, the table, back to Petra, then starting all over again.

“A few weeks old, yes.”

Anna finally turns and looks at Petra, holding her gaze for the first time since they got into the car. “And you told her she couldn’t meet me and Ellie. Or Mateo?”

“Yes.”

Anna watches the door. Both of them hear footsteps approaching. Petra sits up straighter on instinct, sucking in her stomach, smoothing down her hair, forcing a neutral look onto her face. Anna watches her every movement. She doesn’t smooth any bit of herself down, but she does sit up with her back rigid against the chair, her tiny feet not reaching the floor.

And then, her mother is in her sights, and Petra sucks in a small breath at the sight of her, unable to help it. She looks… old. Magda has always been a rough looking woman, her life is etched onto her face and body, but _this…_ never in her entire life has Petra looked at her mother and thought of her as fragile, until now. Her hair has gone completely gray and thinned out, and she’s lost weight—a lot of it. Magda looks like a gentle breeze might knock her over. Petra feels something like guilt twist in her gut, but she forces it down once Magda’s eyes lock with her own.

Her mother smirks, and she doesn’t look so fragile any more.

“Petra,” she drawls, taking her time to shuffle over to the opposite side of the table. Her eyes never leave Petra’s once. She doesn’t look over at Anna. “You finally drag yourself out to see me.”

“Hello Mother,” Petra says, as politely as possible. “This is my daughter, Anna,” Petra’s arm gently rests over Anna’s shoulder, and she feels her daughter relax, just slightly at the touch.

Magda finally looks at her. She snorts. “Spitting image of you. I thought I was never going to have the pleasure of meeting your brats?”

“Anna wanted to meet you,” Petra rubs at her shoulder with her thumb, small enough motions that Anna will feel it, but Magda won’t see.

“And why is that?” Magda directs at Anna. She hangs back, suddenly unsure, her palms pressing against her tights. Her favorite, light pink ones that they have to constantly chase through the wash. “Speak up girl,” Magda snaps. “I don’t exactly have all the time in the world.”

“Don’t talk to her that way,” Petra says, low and dangerous. Magda looks up at her, amused and gives her a patronizing nod of acquiescence. Anna’s eyes are on Petra now, not down at her lap. After a beat, she does some kind of movement that could mean anything, and turns back towards Magda, back as straight as Petra’s was when addressing her mother at that age. Petra hates it. She hates watching Anna, always so precise and sure of herself and her body, forcing herself to look unafraid or uncomfortable in the face of her grandmother. She regrets coming here. They should just leave.

But she can feel it, Anna’s not done. The only reason that Petra allowed this was the determined look in her daughter’s face. The _need_ there. She hasn’t yet done whatever she came here to do or see.

So, Petra will play defense until her mother says something that she will not allow.

Magda shifts, trying to get more comfortable. She’s not going to. These chairs are probably designed with the purpose of being painful to sit in. Her hands and feet being shackled together must only add to her pain.

Good. Let her mother be the one to stew in silence for once.

The silence stretches out between the three of them. Grandmother. Mother. Daughter. One, full of hatred and poison. One, possibly damaged goods. The other, the most perfect human being that Petra has ever encountered.

Finally, Anna looks up from her lap, bellicose and body coiled tight as she locks eyes with her grandmother. “You’re a bad person,” she says clearly. “My mom is the best mom in the whole world. You didn’t win,” she pushes her chair away from the table, leaving Magda and Petra both shocked into silence. “I’m never going to come see you again,” Anna adds. She turns and looks at Petra, complete dismissal of Magda and smiles, the warmest and most affectionate that Petra has ever seen. “I’m ready to go now,” she says. “I can wait out there if you’re not done yet.”

“No,” Petra’s voice is a croak compared to Anna’s. She clears it and stands up herself, holding a hand out to Anna. She takes it and swings it back and forth as they move towards the door. “I’m done too,” Petra looks back at Magda one last time. “I’ve been done with her for a long time now. Goodbye Mother,” she says, not harshly, but not fondly. “I hope the rest of your life is better than was.” She finds that she genuinely means the words. And that’s when she knows, finally, fully, that her mother _finally_ has no more hold over her whatsoever. God, Anezka and Anna were both right, she _did_ need to come back here one last time.

She and Anna walk out into the sunshine, holding hands and smiling. “Shall we get some ice cream?” Petra asks once they get to the car.

“With sprinkles?”

Petra kisses the top of her head, and gently pushes her into the backseat. “Absolutely.”

…

…

 Petra walks into The Marbella as quickly as she can, her heels clacking on the hall floor. “Raf,” she begins as she bursts through his door without knocking. “What _is_ it? Are the kids okay—”

“SURPRISE!” a chorus of voices shouts.

Petra screams, “Souložit,” and promptly drops her phone.

“Mom swore!” Mateo yells. Then she’s tackled into a hug by her ten year old son, his arms like a vice around her middle for half a second before he releases her. “I know what that meant,” he grins up at her.

“Shut it you,” she says fondly.

“Mommy!” Ellie screams and leaps from somewhere behind her. It’s only due to nine years of Ellie jumping from things like a maniac that Petra has the reflexes to twist around and catch her. Grunting with the effort and nearly falling over. Mateo helpfully tries to hold her up by pushing against her behind.

“Elsa,” Petra gasps. “You _have_ to stop doing that.”

Ellie clings to her like a monkey, still small and wiry enough to get away with it, but not for long. Petra pats at her butt and she wriggles down, still holding her around the middle as Rogelio cuts in front of Alba to kiss her on both cheeks. “You’re forty,” he says, like he’s telling her that she gets a whole chocolate cake to herself. “And you look _stunning._ ” He kisses both cheeks once more while Alba rolls her eyes behind him. “I got you some more of that _fantastic_ cream. It’s brilliant. Best gift you will receive!”

“No _way_ Grandpa,” Ellie yells, close enough to hear him. “Mine is better!”

“May I hug her now?” Alba gentle pushes Rogelio to the side and wraps her arms around Petra. She melts into it. It’s been a decade of being in this family, and she has never gotten used to the absolute warmth and love that comes from Alba’s hugs. “Feliz cumpleaños mi amor,” she whispers.

“Gracias,” Petra whispers back.

“Presents!” Ellie screams. “Open mine first!”

“Ellie,” Jane chides lightly. “Be patient.”

Before Jane can move over and hug Petra, Luisa barrels in front of her. Squeezing Petra with just as much force and enthusiasm as Mateo and Ellie combined. “I love you so much. You’re an official old person. Congrats.”

“Forty is not old,” Susanna chides, yanking Luisa back by her shirt. She quickly wraps Petra into a one-armed hug. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” Petra says warmly. She accepts hugs from Xiomara, (a fierce, quick tight squeeze and a pinch on the ass that has Jane swatting at her.) Anezka, (bone-crushing.) Michael, (bear hug that lifts her up and spins her around, to Ellie’s delight.) Lina, (small, one-armed, eyebrow raise and a smirk.) Rafael, (warm, familiar with a kiss to her temple and a whispered _love you._ ) And finally, Anna and Jane step forward together, Anna lets Jane hug Petra first, and then she wraps her arms around the both of them, grinning up at Petra.

“My present is the best,” she declares wickedly. Ellie harrumphs from somewhere over by the couch.

Petra is led over to the table and informed that she _must_ try both kinds of brownies. The more misshapen ones were apparently concocted by Rafael and the kids. Petra eyes them a bit dubiously, but bravely takes a large bite. Mateo beams when she bluntly declares them ugly, but delicious.

The party goes on for ages, and Petra cannot believe that this group of people somehow managed to keep a secret like this from her. She never suspected a thing. Not even from Ellie, who can’t keep a secret to save her life. Petra turns to Jane, sitting beside her, as always and laughs. Jane smiles at her, one that has been directed towards Petra thousands of times over the last ten years, but it still hits her just as hard as it did the first time. Petra can’t _imagine_ , if Jane hadn’t been such a romantic, so fierce and sure that _anyone,_ that even _Petra_ deserved better than being blackmailed by Milos, she can’t imagine where she would be today.

Petra swallows, remembering the night in the stairwell. Thinking about how it was the first time Jane had felt real to her since the day they met, and how she didn’t want it to end, and how that was so, so dangerous. To _want_ like that. To be vulnerable, laying all her cards out on the table. And the second time, the two of them sitting with their knees pressed together, almost like children. Jane’s hand slipping into her own, without an ounce of hesitancy.

That night, Jane was one of the few people who had ever listened to Petra. She didn’t run away when Petra started talking about the parts of herself that aren’t pretty, and now, it’s almost like they are living in another life altogether. That night in the stairwell wasn’t an anomaly, and now it’s always like this, sharing their secrets and their dreams like it means something. There is actual friendship and love involved, instead of fight after fight.

Ellie, Anna, and Mateo shove themselves into Petra’s line of view, holding out a present between them so delicately that Petra almost gasps. None of her children are gentle or delicate. Not even Anna.

“Happy Birthday Petra,” Jane says.

“I thought you were each fighting for the best present,” she jokes.

“It’s all one present,” Mateo explains. “We each helped. With our own money.”

“Mama’s mostly,” Ellis grumbles. “But I put in a _lot._ ”

“Me too!” Mateo adds.

“I gave the most,” Anna says, but she isn’t trying to one up her siblings, she’s simply stating a fact. Petra laughs and reaches for the present.

She opens it slowly, and then all the breath leaves her body.

They’ve bought her a violin.

Jane smiles at her, and slips her hand into Petra’s once more. Like it’s as easy as breathing. And all three of her children are beaming at her. Petra swallows thickly; she hasn’t touched a violin in almost fifteen years. She hasn’t wanted to. But, now that it’s in her hands, now that _her family_ has given her one…

“I love you,” she says quietly. She means _everyone_. Every single person in this room, hell, even Lina and Susanna at this point. She opens her mouth to say something else, but she can’t make it work. _I love you,_ is all that she has. More than she ever imagined possible.

Jane, because she’s _Jane_ knows exactly what Petra is trying to convey. Her hand squeezes Petra’s, their wedding bands clicking together, and then she leans forward and places a light kiss to Petra’s lips. “I love you too,” she whispers.

“Do you like it?” Anna asks, every muscle taunt with worry. Petra reaches for her, and Anna sinks her body right into Petra’s, arms wrapping around her mother tightly.

“I _love_ it,” Petra says, and kisses Anna’s temple. “Thank you,” she looks up and Ellie immediately squeezes herself into Petra’s other side, pushing Jane out a bit. Mateo opts for walking around the couch and dropping himself down from behind her, his arms encircling both her and Jane. “Thank you,” Petra repeats, her voice so soft she’s not sure any of them can hear her. Rogelio whips out his phone and starts snapping photos of them, and Petra is going have to make sure that he sends her a copy, because she wants to be able to remember this moment forever.

She _never_ could have imagined that this is how her life would turn out, that night in the stairwell with Jane. She had just been looking for a way out, a temporary solution until she could figure out her next move. The world twists adults into shapes they never thought that they’d be. Petra never imagined herself like this, with a family and friends who love her. Surrounded by people who Petra _knows_ love her, knows down into the marrow of her bones.

Rafael mentions cake, and Mateo and Ellie are off of her and at their father’s side in a millisecond. Ellie, clambering her way up his back and shouting about who should get the biggest piece. Petra watches as Xiomara juts her hip against Rogelio and laughs, while Alba quickly grabs Mateo’s hand before he tries to eat his piece of cake with his fingers. Luisa is drumming out a beat on Ellie’s back, still monkey-griped to Rafael, and the three of them are all laughing. Michael and Susanna are both regaling Anezka and Lina with some tale of their latest arrest, the both of them always react more dramatically than anyone else apart from Rogelio. And Jane and Anna haven’t left Petra’s side.

Jane smiles at Petra over Anna’s head, and then she leans in once more and kisses her. Anna rolls her eyes, but Petra can see the grin she’s trying to suppress as she leans back into Petra. “Happy birthday Petra,” Jane says, and the three of them go off to join the rest of their family.


End file.
